


O to sail to sea in a ship

by kscho



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Coping Mechanisms, F/F, F/M, Implied Suicide Attempt, Lots of Angst, Modern Character in Thedas, Modern Girl in Thedas, Nightmares, POV Multiple, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Therapy, it gets dark at some point, my b, my try at a slow burn, therapy dogs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2019-11-21 07:11:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 107,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18139055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kscho/pseuds/kscho
Summary: Regan Galloway is an Army veteran who returned home feeling empty. After years of finding no cure, she wakes up on the side of a mountain in the middle of a snowstorm. After being rescued, she finds herself at the heart of the Inquisition, offering her services, whatever that might entail.





	1. O Inquisitor, my Inquisitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Welcome to Thedas, Regan Galloway."

  _September 9th, 2010_

_"Chaos" was too small a word. "Complete disorder and confusion" was far too inadequate for Regan's surroundings. The entire world spun and her eyes were shaking in her skull. Her blood had been replaced with adrenaline and electricity. There was a screaming in her ears that she couldn't forget, couldn't silence. Sound tore up the ground like the bullets and bombs that rained down upon it. Dust was sent skyward, browning the sky and blinding her. She ducked her head down, hearing bullets strike the dirt mere feet from the tip of her nose._

_"Galloway! Dammit, Galloway, get to cover!" Rough hands hauled her to her feet and practically dragged her into a small dip. "What the fuck is going on!?" he shouted._

_"IED!" Regan shouted back. "IED! Fuckers jumped us! What about-"_

_"Fuck!" the man, still unidentified, rolled on his stomach and fired towards the enemy. The sudden attack startled her, making her flinch away and shield her face once again. He moved back, and she clawed up enough courage to turn and look again. Just as she was about to ask what was going on, she froze. A bullet hole on his neck was gushing blood into the dirt. He pulled at Regan's arm as he choked on the very liquid supposed to keep him alive. His other hand flew to his neck, but she could see in his eyes that he knew he was done. His life was over. He had promised it to his country and the bill had come due._

_And he was afraid. He curled up in the fetal position and lay still, his body relaxing further with every passing moment. The name on the back of his helmet read "Frost." Neil Frost. Regan knew him. He loved country music and was a great poker player. He was a great young man._

_And now he was dead._

_\---_

A warm tongue lapped at Regan's cheek, bringing her up from the depths of sleep. She grunted and turned, flopping an arm over to pet her red retriever, Cherry, who continued to lap at her face gently. Once she noticed that her clothes were getting wet, she sat sat bolt upright. She was surrounded by snow. True, Wisconsin winter cold snow. She brought her hands around her. She was, putting it simply, in the middle of fucking nowhere on the side of what seemed like a mountain. Even though she hadn't gone to sleep with it, her prosthetic leg was still attached to her right leg. She looked at her dog and shook her head. "Cherry?" she breathed, feeling her muscles already beginning to shake. "Where the fuck are we?"

The wind was the worst, Regan decided. The snow and lack of proper attire she could bear through. She lived in Wisconsin; she was no stranger to the cold. She could slide down her parents' driveway without a jacket in the middle of a snowstorm if she was feeling excited enough. But the wind...fuck! It sliced through her skin sharper than the desert sands had. The knee deep snow was making it terribly hard to walk, especially with a custom-made prosthetic leg. Her arms were clamped around her to salvage what little warmth she had. She couldn't feel her remaining foot. She wasn't even positive what shoes she was wearing. She hadn't gone to sleep in her jeans, but she was wearing, and they were soaking. All she was wearing above her waist was her high school sweatshirt and some sort of tank top beneath that.

_Where the fucking hell am I? Why the fuck am I out in this fucking storm with no fucking jacket?_

Regan pressed her back up against a tree and kicked as much snow away as she could before she sat down, shivering uncontrollably and pulling Cherry close, trying to shield her from the cold. She could feel her lips chapping, cracking, even starting to bleed. Her lungs were screaming for reprieve. Every single muscle trembled. She had a splitting headache that felt like someone was beating her over the head with a 2x4. She pressed palms to her temples, squeezing her eyes shut and muttering for it all to stop. Everything. The cold, the shivering, the fucking headache. Despite wanting to just lay down and bury herself in the snow, she struggled to her feet, determined to get... _somewhere_.

“Fucking hell in the name of our Lord and goddamn Savior Jesus-fucking-Christ but where the fuck am I?” Regan muttered. Tears streamed down her face and she thought she could feel them freezing on her skin. It was dark as all hell, definitely nighttime wherever the fuck she was. She couldn’t see a decent ten feet in front of her. She could barely even see Cherry walking beside her in the snow. “Just keep walking, Regan, keep walking… Keep talking, don’t fall…” She kept her hands moving to keep the blood flowing, but she still noticed how her feeling was waning. “I’m gonna need a lot of pocket warmers to dig myself out of this chill.”

Regan kept her head low and kept going on.

She didn’t have much of a choice beyond picking a direction at random and marching. If she didn’t find shelter soon, there was a very real chance of hypothermia setting in, not to mention frostbite. Her focus was beginning to wane. The repetitive step after step after step was like clockwork. She didn’t have to think about it anymore, her survival instinct and her military mind keeping her on autopilot. But each step took longer than the last. Her knee shook and it was getting harder and harder to lift her prosthetic out of the snow.

Cherry whined, and all at once, Regan fell over with nothing but a sigh of relief. 

The snow felt like her mattress back at home: squishy and something that would carry her to sleep easily. She rolled on her back and tried for a smirk as Cherry climbed atop her, no doubt to keep her warm. She thought back to that night, only hoping that she wouldn’t lose any limbs to the cold.

“You need at _least_ one real foot to drive go-karts,” she muttered.

\---

_November 28th, 2018_

_“Drunk” was the only word that stayed in Regan’s thoughts as her vision swam. She was flat on her back on a couch. Her friend’s couch. Kenzie’s couch. They were...what were they talking about? There had been that passing flirt…oh…_

_“I threw up, didn’t I?” Regan asked, pulling a blanket over her eyes to block out the light._

_“Twice,” came Kenzie’s slightly more sober voice from behind the turn of the desk. “I’m...surprised you made it to the trash, like, on your own.” She heard her take a deep breath and giggle. “It was really red.”_

_Regan echoed the giggle. “It was your idea to make the Kool-Aid red!”_

_“It was yours!”_

_They shared the giggle between them and Regan turned on her side, spitting into the trash bin she had set beside her. She noticed the tiny green light from the Wii was staring at her. She fumbled for the remote on the ottoman and pushed the power button, sighing and returning to her back once the green light turned red. Her head still swam, but it was a good, drunken swim. Brandy hadn’t gone particularly well with the Kool-Aid, but Regan wasn’t picky. She had to remind herself to buy a new bottle for her mom before she went back home. Or at least leave some money._

_“I’d still do it, you know,” she said._

_“What?” Kenzie responded. Regan could hear her tossing and turning under her blanket._

_“A date. I’d take you on one. Hell, I’d even take you to Barnes and Noble.” Kenzie chortled drunkenly. “Next Saturday. I’ll drive up and take you out. I know we’re drunk, but how’s that?”_

_Kenzie took a deep breath. “Done deal,” she said. “But...go-karts?”_

_“Go-karts,” Regan managed to promise before slamming into unconsciousness._

_\---_

Regan slowly came back to herself, as she always did when she woke up without an alarm. She held on the the last tails of her dream. What had it been...sledding? Building snowmen? Hanging up Christmas lights? Something with snow, definitely. Lots of snow and cold and not too good times. She turned on her opposite side, her right, and tucked her foot under a fold of her blanket. Her pillow felt different; she must have accidentally grabbed the thinner one sometime during the night. Her hand slowly reached out to the side. Her body pillow was gone. _Shit, I kicked it to the floor again, didn’t I? Dammit._

Finally, after waking up enough, she peered through the darkness. Or...not darkness? There was a warm glow in the room. Regan lifted her head slowly, letting out a soft groan. Her necklace was poking her painfully under her bra strap. She pulled it out and pushed herself to sit up. Cherry was sleeping soundly at her feet, nose tucked under her tail. Regan dragged her hands down her face and squinted at the light. A fireplace sat in the wall. Although it was unnecessary to say, her apartment didn’t have a fireplace. Her parents’ house had one, but not in her damn room. Her shoes, now identifiable as her trusty Converse, sat on the floor near the foot of her bed, neatly tucked next to each other. Her sweatshirt was hung over a chair near the fire.

Luckily, every other piece of clothing was still on her body. Even her sock.  _Fuck, my foot is on fire,_ she thought, slipping it over the edge of the bed, very aware of her prosthetic missing. Regan realized with a start that she didn't know where she was. It looked like...well, it looked like a Game of Thrones set. Stone walls, stone floor, stone ceiling. Normally, she would have called it awesome, quaint, and maybe even absolutely darling. But she was supposed to be at home, waking up to her alarm so she would be on time for a meeting with her editor. There were other beds in the room with a few other people sleeping on them.  _An infirmary?_

"Where's my prosthetic?" she breathed. "Cherry, stay." Her retriever sighed and shifted slightly. She slipped on her Converse got to her foot, keeping one hand on the bed for balance, then hobbled over to the chair near the fire as quiet as she could, grabbing her sweatshirt and slipping it on. She spared a second to relish in the warmth of the sweatshirt before scanning the room. A curtain separated the room she was in from another room. She hopped over to it and peeked through. There were more beds, but desks next to them. There was only one young woman in the room, writing diligently in a book with-

With Regan's prosthetic leg sitting on her desk.

"Ooh, fuck," she muttered. "Well, no use hangin' about." She hopped through the curtain, startling the girl. Regan put a finger to her lips. "It's okay," she said quickly. "Unarmed, one-legged...you have far better odds." She held up her hands and pointed at the desk. "I've just come for my leg."

"Oh!" she squeaked, turning pink. She jumped to her feet and grabbed Regan's leg and suspension, quickly handing them over. "Sorry," she mumbled as Regan sat on the nearest chair to put her leg on. The girl was half a foot shorter than Regan with waist-length brown hair. She had bright, intelligent green eyes that seemed to watch Regan's every move as she worked with her leg. "What...what's it made of?"

"Carbon fiber," Regan grunted, giving it a quick tap against the stone floor before trying to stand. "This one's for running, but I have two others for-"

"Healer Rissa?" A voice from the other room called. The girl squeaked and dashed through the curtains.

"Captain Rylen," she said. "How do you do?"

"I'm fine, lass, thank you. How's the...the... Where's the woman?"

"Up and reunited with her leg," Regan joked, following the girl through the curtains. Cherry jumped off the bed and stood between her legs, sitting down and panting happily. The man, Captain Rylen, was a handsome looking man with lines of tattoos on his chin. He held a helmet under his arm and his chocolate-brown hair looked mussed from it.

Wait.

 _Helmet,_ Regan thought. Helmet. A fucking helmet, like total Medieval Times helmet. And he was wearing...a full set of armor adorned with a eye and a sword thrust through it. Despite the bizarre observation, she had to admit that the warm colors of his accents were quiet handsome. She felt a head rush rocket through her skull and grabbed Cherry's vest to ground her. Cherry whined and took Regan's sleeve between her teeth, pulling her to the door. Her hands struggled with the handle, but she managed to pull it open and stumble out into fresh air.

"It's fucking cold," she laughed, falling back against the sturdy stone wall, breathing heavily. "Proper cold. Snow cold. Wisconsin ice fishing cold, Cherry." She ran her fingers through her dog's fur, staring at another stone wall. 

"Miss? Are you alright?"

"Just fine," she gasped. "I'm just...catching my breath." She looked up at Rylen. "Where the fuck am I? Please."

"Skyhold," he answered her carefully, offering a hand, which she took. "Right in the middle of the Frostback Mountains, right in the middle of Ferelden and Orlais." Regan frowned. "Would you like to walk?"

"Sure," she sighed. "Why not?"

Regan nearly fainted. She had seen quite a lot of the world. She had seen one of her squad members shot in the throat and left to die in her arms while bullets screamed overhead. She had heard the mourning scream of a mother as she held her dead son in her arms. She had seen enough blood to fill a swimming pool. She had watched a man cut his own throat before her team could get the chance to capture him. She had seen violence.

She had never seen...whatever it was she was looking at.

Training, she might have called it. Men and women, armed with swords and shields, all wearing the same armor, all practicing the same movements of offence and defense. She knew soldiers when she saw them. 

"What's your name?" Rylen asked, his voice gentle and careful.

"Regan," she replied, still staring at the swordfighting. "Regan Galloway. That's Cherry," she said, motioning to her red retriever, happily trotting beside them. "Sorry if I seem like an utter moron, but I'm still not entirely sure where I am, what I'm doing here, or how I even got here. Can you, uh...start from the beginning?"

Rylen cleared his throat. "Everything, miss?"

"Regan. And, yes, the short version, in case I pass out."

They were at a fortress. An actual fucking fortress with actual fucking towers and fucking battlements and fucking turrets and fucking everything that made a fortress. The sight was spectacular, and Regan could confidently say that it stole her breath.

"Well, uh...this is Skyhold, the seat of the Inquisition. We serve Inquisitor Lyanna Lavellan, the Herald of Andraste. She stepped out of the Fade, she closed the Breach, she saved most of us at the fall of Haven. She continues to lead us. We continue to follow. We arrived at Skyhold a couple of weeks ago. My men and I found you in the snow. Your hound led us to you."

"Keep your shield up before she rings your head like a Chantry bell!" a sharp voice bellowed, making Regan flinch.

"Relax," Rylen implored. "That's Commander Cullen Rutherford, leader of the Inquisitor's armies. He also advises the her alongside Lady Ambassador Josephine Montilyet and Spymaster Leliana." Regan's military mind kicked in. She started analyzing every bit of information Rylen gave her. Not all of it made sense in her mind, but she refused to let any of it go. "Keeping track."

"As best as I can," she replied honestly. "Do you have any questions for me? I must look strange."

"Quite." They stopped to watch the soldiers train. Regan found herself transfixed with the way the soldiers moved. She had never seen real swordplay. "Why were you way up here in the mountains alone, unarmed, with only a dog to keep you company?"

"I'm not sure. I don't know how I got here. Cherry's my therapy dog. She's there when I have nightmares, panic attacks, you name it. Like how she pulled me to go outside. And I've been unarmed for a while now. Haven't held a...weapon in quite a long time."

"You were a soldier?"

"Yep. Used to be." She kicked out her prosthetic, smirking. 

"Captain Rylen!" A young woman came running up, nearly slipping in the slight snow on the ground. She was shorter than Regan. She had a curtain of blonde hair that swayed in the wind, and bright blue eyes that shined with curiosity and gentleness. "This her? The girl your men found?" Rylen nodded. "Inquisitor Lyanna Lavellan," she introduced herself, sticking out her hand. Regan didn't respond, too transfixed with the markings on the Inquisitor's face. They trailed across her cheekbones like tree branches in blue ink. "Oh, it's Mythal. My _vallaslin_?" She turned her head slightly and Regan saw her pointed ears. Proper  _Lord of the Rings_ pointed ears, only longer.

" _Vallaslin_ ," Regan echoed, the word tasting strange on her tongue. "What's a _vallaslin_?" Both Rylen and Inquisitor Lavellan stared at her, realizing she was dead serious. "Humor me," she added.

"I'll take it from here, Captain Rylen," Inquisitior Lavellan said. "I'm sure Cullen's missing your sense of humor."

"I doubt that, Inquisitor," he joked, bowing and leaving the two women.

"I still don't know your name."

"Regan," she said again. "Regan Galloway."

"And who's this beautiful one?" Inquisitor Lavellan cried, dropping to her knees to pet Cherry, who panted happily and thumped her tail on the ground. 

"Her name's Cherry."

"Oh, she's gorgeous!" Cherry laid down and rolled on her back, exposing her soft belly. Lavellan laughed and rubbed her up and down with both hands. "Yes you are!" She looked up at Regan, squinting in the sun. "A  _vallaslin_ is called 'blood-writing' in the common tongue. They're granted by our Keepers when we come of age." Lavellan caught herself. "A Keeper is the leader of our clan. They remember our histories, remember ancient magic the world has long since forgotten about. Different clans sometimes have different  _vallasllins_. They honor the elvhen pantheon. Each one honors a different god. Mine's Mythall, the Protector."

Inquisitor Lavellan kept speaking, but Regan found herself not listening. Not on purpose, of course. She was distracted by, well, everything. The people, the clothes, the workers, the  _view_. The view was nothing short of spectacular. Mountains everywhere she looked. She wanted to climb the battlements and take a proper look, but she wasn't about to just walk away from the Inquisitor. She seemed important, anyway. The captain had even called her the Herald of Andraste, whatever that meant. And there was no doubt in Regan's mind that she was an elf. There was no other word for her. 

 _Elves exist,_ she thought.  _Cool...I guess..._

Cherry licked at her hand. She looked down and absentmindedly scratched her ears. "I apologize, Inquisitor," she said, her mind scrambling to think of a proper way to address someone like her.  _Game of Thrones, moron, think Game of Thrones._ "I must admit that my mind wandered a bit." She tried at a smile. "Forgive me. Strange new world for me."

"It must be," Lavellan agreed softly. She glanced around at the clamor that was her Skyhold. "Why don't you tell me about yourself? Um...tell me about your family. We can walk and talk."

They climbed the battlements and walked. "I, uh...I've got two little sisters, three years younger than me. Holland and Hallie. They're twins. I live by myself. Moved away when I was eighteen. Joined the military, became just another pair of boots on the ground overseas. Being in the desert was a pain in the ass. Lost about half of my leg. Came home, wrote about it, landed on the national bestseller list, wrote some more, landed there again..." Regan took a deep breath. "And now I'm...here. Where is here?"

"Technically? Ferelden. The Frostback Mountains." Lavellan pointed to the east. "There's the rest of Ferelden." She pointed to the west. "That's Orlais." She spoke a phrase in a tongue Regan didn't understand. "Full of politics, finery, and the Game."

"The Game?"

"It's what they call their politics. The Game the politicians play to get themselves ahead, or put others behind them." She pointed north. "Keep going that way long enough, you'll hit Nevarra. Beyond that in different directions, there's the Free Marches, made up of eight city states, then Antiva, Rivain, the Anderfels, Par Vollen, Seheron, and the Tevinter Imperium."

"And...what exactly is an Inquisitor?"

"Me, I suppose. We pledged to seal the Breach, find those responsible, and bring those responsible to justice." She chuckled. "At least, that's what Cassandra said. We've done the first two. Still working on that third." Lavellan smiled. "You can listen to a dozen different people and they'll give you a dozen different definitions of what I am. In simplest terms, I'm a leader. I'm  _their_ leader. Because of this." She tugged off her left glove and held out her hand. A glowing, light green line stretched across the back of her hand and traced the width of her palm.

"May I?" Regan asked. She nodded. Regan gently took her hand, examining it. "What is it?"

"Sometimes I call it the Mark. Sometimes the Anchor. I'm not sure where it came from, exactly, or why it hasn't killed me yet. It's what sealed the Breach. It's what continues to seal rifts." The Mark crackled under Regan's fingers and she pulled away. Lavellan laughed. "See?"

_I'm not gonna say it, I'm not gonna say it, I'm not gonna say it, I'm not-_

"Magic?" Regan dared.

"Yes. A type that none of us quite understand yet. Solas has the best guess, but not nearly enough straight answers."

"Magic," Regan dared again. "Fuck me, that's impressive." She crouched, planting her elbows on her knees and placing her head in her hands. "Shocking, yes. Fucking up my head, yes. But impressive." Cherry walked up and licked her cheek, drawing a smile from Regan. "Can everyone here do magic?"

"No. Only some."

"What kind of magic?" Regan stood up quickly. "Can you...can you show me? Please?" She was surprised. She hadn't heard that kind of enthusiasm in her own voice in quite a long time.

Lavellan looked at her skeptically. "You're...not afraid?"

"Why would I be?"

She shook her head. "Nevermind. Sure, I can show you. But..." She looked around at the patrolling soldiers. "Would you join me for a cup of tea in my chambers? I can show you there. Some people here might get...nervous? I just want to be careful."

"Of course, Inquisitor. Lead the way. Come on, Cherry."

\---

_October 11th, 2010_

_"When was the last time you had a decent cup of coffee?" Chris asked, handing her a mug._

_"I'm not entirely sure," she answered, taking a sip. Sugar and bitterness mingled on her tongue, warmth spreading across her chest. "A year ago? Two? Nobody does French Vanilla quite like my sister Hallie. She practically fucking lives on coffee." Chris sat down next to her on the couch and crossed his leg over his knee. "I'm more of a tea girl myself. Tazo sweet wild orange? Best stuff there is. Especially if you just want to take a fucking nap."_

_"Jesus Christ, you swear a lot."_

_"I've got a lot to swear about, Chris. You try losing a fucking leg and pretend that you're not fucking sour about it. How is my professional football career ever gonna work out now."_

_"Cheeky. Real fucking cheeky, Galloway." Chris grabbed the remote from the arm of the couch and turned on the TV. "Did you hear that they're gonna make a show about_ A Song of Ice and Fire _? You've read all the books, right?"_

_"The four that have come out, yeah. They're pretty fucking awesome. I hope the show turns out awesome."_

_"Private Galloway?" a voice called from the door of the rec hall._

_"Over here!" she said, waving a hand._

_"Phone call! It's your parents."_

_"Pass it on!" That was the term for refusing a call. Lots of people at the VA hospital dealt with PTSD, depression, and other sorts of fucked up shit in their heads. "Pass it on," was heard as often as swear words. Chris glanced at her and sighed, but said nothing. "What, Chris?" she asked. "Want to tell me how I should suck it up and go home already?"_

_"Hey, I'm the last person to tell you that. I've been here two months longer than you have, and I've yet to call up my brother and tell him that I lost my fucking arm." He sighed again and stared blankly at the TV. "Man...I should really tell him, yeah?"_

_"You do you, dude."_

_"Galloway?"_

_"Pass it on!"_

_"Your parents are...here."_

_Regan sat up and looked behind her at the volunteer. He was standing sheepishly in the door of the rec room, shuffling his feet. "Here? As in here at the hospital?" He nodded. She let out a heavy sigh and sat back, thinking. "Think I should go?"_

_Chris shrugged. "Maybe? I'm not sure. How's your temper?"_

_"About as hot as a ghost pepper." Chris burst out laughing and clapped her on her back with his one remaining arm. "Good luck, Galloway. Have fun." With no small amount of effort, Regan grabbed her crutches and launched herself to her one foot, hopping slightly to keep her balance as she got her crutches in place, following the volunteer out of the rec room and outside to the gardens. Squinting in the sun, she kept her eyes on the ground to make sure her crutches didn't land anywhere risky. She gave a nod and a smirk to a few people she knew, but otherwise followed closely behind the volunteer._

_"They're waiting in the courtyard for you, said you'd probably like talking outside anyways."_

_"Regan!" She was almost tackled in a blur of red hair and strong arms. "Jesus Christ, how are you?"_

_"Hallie?" Regan choked out. Her younger sister stood before her, strong, bright, and young like she had always looked. She had grown her hair longer and now wore glasses. "What the fuck are you doing here? And when the fuck did you get glasses?"_

_"Last month," Holland answered for her twin, walking up. "Turns out she's nearsighted." She hugged her sister much gentler than her twin had. "Hello, Re. How've you been?"_

_"The volunteer said Mom and Dad were here," she said. "What'd you do, pose as my moms?" She scoffed and found the nearest bench to sit down on. "Well?"_

_The twins sat down as well. "That's...complicated," Holland said. "Dad had a..."_

_"Breakdown," Hallie put simply. "When your letters stopped coming, he said words. A lot of words. None of them nice. Mom threatened divorce, we threatened to leave..." She sighed and put her chin in her hands. "It was a big fucking mess. They had another go at it just before you came out. Started bitching about how you've left the family and all this shit about how you don't care. I'm sorry, Regan."_

_Regan shook her head and scoffed, a bitter smile creeping up onto her lips. "Oh, of course this would happen," she muttered, rubbing her forehead. "Of course it would come down to me. All I wanted was to serve my fucking country and maybe get a paid tuition in the end. Of course that'd be to fucking much to ask for in the eyes of our parents." She looked to her sisters. "Where are they?"_

_"Back at the car, maybe," Holland murmured, not meeting her eyes. "That's where they were heading."_

_"Well...Then that's it." Regan got to her remaining foot and grabbed her crutches. "I'm sorry, but I...can't."_

_"Regan!"_

_"Regan, please!"_

_"No!" She turned on her sisters as fast as her crutches and one leg would allow without tripping her. "What do you want me to say to that? 'Sorry I left, Mom and Dad, I'll spend every day fucking making it up to you?' 'Sorry if I lost my leg, Mom and Dad, and I'm sorry if it makes you uncomfortable!' 'Sorry, Mom and Dad, let me just catch the next airdrop so I can die with honor and you won't have to be ashamed?' What else is there to say? I left for a reason, guys. I'm not coming back to the same shit. Never again. I made a promise to myself. And that promise didn't include fucking myself over just to please my so-called parents!"_

_"I lost my fucking leg. I lost my fucking sanity. I lost a fucking lot over there, but I did not come back home just to lose my fucking dignity! When you find Mom and Dad, tell them they can go fuck themselves until they can't fucking walk! At least then we'd be in the same fucking boat."_

_\---_

"Holy fuck!" Regan shouted, a smile as big as the world parting her lips as she watched Inquisitor Lavellan conjure fire from her bare fingers. "Is it real? Is it fucking real?"

Lyanna cracked up, tossing her hair back as she laughed. "Yes!" she cried. "Yes, it's very real." Regan held her hands close to the fire, continuing to smile. "See? I told you." She raised an eyebrow at Regan, her mind struggling to connect some dots. "So...you really don't have magic where you're from?"

"Some people would say it's debatable," she explained. "Slight of hand is a thing, sure, and some people know how to do it in ways that make it look impossible. Some say that magic is only real if you truly believe in it. But..." The woman shook her head, her blue eyes full of wonder and, of all things, disbelief. "This? Nothing is like this in my world."

 _My world,_ Lyanna echoed in her own mind.  _Is it possible? The world has gotten impossibly big, but this...?_ "Can I ask you a question, Regan Galloway?"

"Just Regan is fine. And, of course, Inquisitor."

"Is it the truth?" she asked quickly. "Everything you've said thus far? I honestly hate to ask, but..."

"You have to, I understand. It would be unwise to trust someone like me. I would have advised you against it." Regan took a step back and placed her right hand over her heart. "I swear on my life, and on my honor as a soldier. Every word I will ever speak to you is the truth and only the truth. I will never lie to you. This, I promise." She offered a kind smile.

Lyanna returned it. "Thank you. I promise the same."

"I also...offer my services. In any way you wish to use it." She looked nervous, Lyanna noticed, even a bit scared. She couldn't blame her. To wake up in a strange world with strange people speaking strange words. She didn't envy her. "I know I'm missing a leg, and I haven't won a fencing competition since before I joined the army, but..." She looked all around Lyanna's quarters. "I'm a soldier. Whether I like it or not, I belong in the fight. I belong with a weapon in my hands and a chance. I'll only need a chance from you."

Lyanna chuckled. "And you'll have it. Fencing, you say? What's that?"

Regan smirked. "Like dueling, but...safer. Holland used to call it 'fancy-dancey' sword fighting."

"Very well.  Report to Rylen, the man you were talking to before, explain the situation, tell him to get you a set of armor." She held out an arm. "Welcome to the Inquisition, Regan Galloway."


	2. O that I may look upon your features and smile!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having found herself a member of the Inquisition, Regan keeps her head low and does what she says.

Regan's back hit the battlements hard, knocking the wind out of her with nothing but a strained gasp. She kept enough about her to duck and avoid a blunted sword coming at her head. She rolled away and got to her feet, nearly snarling at her sparring partner, Giles. He laughed as she tossed her shield aside, happy to be free of the weight, and stand side face.

"Had enough yet, Galloway?" he taunted. He was a burly man of forty who had all the spirit of a younger man, as well as a true born and bred Ferelden. He was in charge of training the group of recruits Regan was a part of, but they often sparred together. Their personalities fit together too well, causing them to clash and taunt at each other. It was like they had known each other all their lives.

"You fucking wish," she shot back, grinning. They exchanged a few more blows. He blocked most of hers with his shield adorned with the sigil of the Inquisition. She was beginning to get annoyed at how her blunted sword couldn't even scratch the damn thing. Almost everything she now owned was the Inquisition standard. Standard set of armor, standard homespun underclothes, standard boots. The blacksmith, Harritt, had been gracious enough to make a temporary form to keep her prosthetic leg snugly inside her boot. It was a little stiff most of the time, but Regan worked around it. She always had.

"I'm starting to think you  _prefer_ sparring against women," she continued. "Me, specifically." They circled slowly. "I haven't figured out why yet."

"I'm open to suggestions," he said before he lunged.

She glanced off his sword with hers. "Oh, I dunno," she went on.  _Strike, two, three, whoa!_ She jumped out of the way of a slash and answered it with her own.

The barracks were like coming home. She was back in the army. Well,  _an_ army. Her new brothers and sisters in arms had easily accepted her as one of their own. They'd taught her how to play Wicked Grace and Diamondback. She learned even more by listening and watching. Listening to how they spoke. Their language, their slang, their accents. Watching how they moved. How the rogues moved swiftly and near silently. How the warriors stood as tall and strong as Skyhold, ready to shield others as well as themselves.

She liked watching the mages practice. She liked to feel the air around them vibrate with the energy and power they possessed. It tickled her neck, making the little hairs there stand on end. She felt a sort of connection to the feeling. It was almost as if her blood vibrated along with the mages' powers.

"Still there, Galloway?" Giles called to her from the other side of the circle.

"Mm, I'm fairing to middling," she mumbled to herself.

A small crowd had started watching. They  _had_ been sparring for quite a while. Their movements were less enthusiastic from when they started, but they were still fixed on tripping the other up. Regan had forgone her helmet in favor of the feel of the chilled mountain air through her short hair.

"Switch!" an unmistakable Scottish brogue called.  _Starkhaven brogue,_ she corrected herself. She dropped her stance and laughed, shaking her head as Captain Rylen stepped into the ring, tapping Giles out.

"What the fuck?" Regan cried, planting her hands on her knees as she laughed. "Captain!"

"Sword up, recruit!" he barked with a clever smile.

"I'm so fucked," she laughed, doing as she was told. "What's with the gang up on the new girl?"

"Come off it, Galloway!" he called. "You're better than some of the soldiers that have been with us since Haven! Consider this...a test of sorts."

The switch in Regan's mind was flipped. She was full on Private First Class Regan Galloway. She raised her sword and sharpened herself on its edge. Something flashed in Rylen's eyes. She knew he saw the change. He had thrown down the gauntlet, and she was going to pick it up and win. The yard was near silent. A recruit that had joined a few short weeks prior was taking on the famous--or infamous--Captain Rylen of the Inquisition because she showed promise.

For what, exactly, she wasn't sure.

Sparks flew. Dust was kicked up. She was still without a shield, but her old fencing skills had transformed into well-tuned swordplay. Rylen was a challenge, but one she would gladly be tested with. He was bigger, stronger, more skilled, but she had her determination and stubbornness. 

She wasn't sure how long they danced. And it was a dance, wasn't it? A dance of swords and shields. A dance of feet and arms. Someone always moved when the other wouldn't, and yet they moved together. Always wary of each other. Always avoiding getting their feet stepped on by the other. There was no music, but they didn't need any. The music of battle would accompany them soon enough, most likely.

Regan cried out as Rylen landed a jab to her hip. That would  _definitely_ bruise later. She brought her leg up and squarely kicked his shield, getting him to stumble back. She heard someone curse from outside the sparring circle. She waited for her opening and kicked the arm holding his shield. Rylen shouted and dropped it. Before he could figure out his next move, she struck his other arm, near his wrist. He shouted again and dropped that as well.

She jumped, spun, and kicked him square in the chest. Someone behind him looked ready to catch Rylen as he stumbled backwards, but Regan rushed forward, hooked her right leg with his left and grabbed his collar, leveling the point of her sword to his throat.

Rylen held his breath. Regan realized quickly that he was heavier than she was and that they would both tumble to the dirt if she didn't let go. So she did. Rylen let out an "oof!" as he hit the ground, making her chortle for all of a second before she was silenced by a few cheers and claps from her fellow soldiers. She gave a single nod of her head and held out her hand to her captain. He smirked as he shook his head, but he took her hand and she hauled him up.

"That was..." he tried.

"Unexpected?" she supplied.

He barked out a laugh. "Yeah, that's one word for it, lass." He clapped her on her back. "Excellent work. The Commander's asked for you. He's in his office."

Regan felt her face pale. "Pardon?"

Rylen grinned. "Commander's office. Go on."

\---

_February 18th, 2012_

_Regan couldn't help the excited, goofy giggles that escaped her lungs as she nearly hopped up and down on her best friend, Natalie. They were up next for Disney World's Flight of Passage. Both of them had been on the ride before, but one simply wasn't going to be satisfied with a single ride, or two, or even a dozen. It was a ride worth waiting hours for. This, Regan swore._

_"Will you calm down?" Natalie laughed, straightening her backpack straps over her shoulders._

_"No!" Regan shouted, despite being surrounded by all sorts of people. Some stared or gave her odd looks, but she didn't care. She was in fucking Disney World! "Dude, I haven't been on this ride in over two years, give me a break!" She continued to bobble on the balls of her feet as she waited with anticipation. "Oh my god, I'm gonna cry," she said suddenly. "I am literally gonna cry right now."_

_"You serious?"_

_"Yep." Her vision blurred and she laughed. "Oh, noooo!" The Disney worker waved them forward. Regan let out a shameless squeal of joy and hopped forward after Natalie. The ride, as was Disney's forte, had a bit of story sprinkled in with the rush. An actor told the eight of them that they were being matched with an avatar, "decontaminated" them, gave them a bit of fun with motion detection, and told them to wait for the door to open._

_"Natalie, I'm gonna say sorry now because I'm definitely gonna cry and I'm definitely gonna scream," Regan warned her friend breathlessly as they entered the next room. It had eight of what looked like motorcycles, without the wheels or bike handlebars, facing a flat wall. They secured their bags away and skittered to the seats, straddling them. There was a tiny screen right between the two little handlebars._

_"I'm gonna pee," Natalie admitted with a ridiculous giggle._

_"Same!"_

_The lights dimmed. Later, Regan would joke that she blacked out for a few seconds. Honestly, she might have believed it if she thought about it long enough. Her hands tightened on the tiny handlebars in anticipation. The wall in front of them raised up, revealing a large screen showing the "link" featured in James Cameron's_ Avatar.

_Regan would admit to anyone that she cried._

_Of course she would._

_Why not?_

_\---_

"Galloway?"

Regan inhaled sharply as she snapped out of her daydream. "Apologies, Commander," she said, her hands still clasped behind her back at attention.

If anyone were to pick a dictionary and look up the definition of the word "intimidating," they would find a picture of Commander Cullen Rutherford. His silverite armor and fur mantle and piercing eyes and marked face were the vision of experience. And yet, there were spots of softness about him. The wave in his blonde hair. The scruff of a beard that he had. The way he held his hands together when he watched the recruits train.

Nevertheless, Regan still felt her blood rush a little as her boss looked at her from the other side of his office desk.

"The Inquisitor has requested that you accompany her when she leaves for the Hinterlands on the morrow to clean up straggling groups of Venatori," he said, glancing at some papers on his desk. "Rylen has spoken highly of your skills. Where are you from?"

Regan felt her cheeks pink. "Um...I, uh..."

Cullen waved a passive hand. "Apologies. It doesn't matter. What matters is you've proven yourself a fast learner and an excellent soldier. And you're...different. I can see why the Inquisitor likes you." He tried at a grin that Regan nervously returned.

"Thank you, Commander," she said firmly. "I'll keep her safe."

"Thank you, Galloway. You're dismissed for the rest of the day."

She saluted in the way she was taught: by placing her arm across her chest and giving a slight bow. She quickly left and was in the middle of thinking what the Hinterlands would be like when a messenger rushed up to her.

"Blacksmith Harritt wishes to speak with you," he got out before running off again.

It turns out that Inquisitor Lavellan had taken the liberty of commissioning a new set of armor for Regan. She was shocked and had absolutely no words. Apparently, Inquisitor Lavellan thought that midnight blue was Regan's color.  _I mean, she's right. Dark, like my soul._ She swallowed a giggle as Harritt fit her into it. It was light, warm, and incredibly comfortable. The silverite scales glittered in the sun. She had never thought she would find herself wearing tassets, or even know what tassets were, but they made her waist look damn good. She swallowed another giggle and tried to get her shit together and not lose it in front of Harritt.

"There! Pretty new piece for the Inquisitor's newest member!" Harritt said.

"Wow," Regan breathed out lamely. The armor was feminine, that went without question, but she felt...good. She felt strangely normal, comfortable,  _strong._ The breastplate was light and small enough to allow her a wide range of movement. Far more than the standard Inquisition armor. She was like a patch of the night sky, stars and everything. All she needed was a trademark tool. She was good with a sword, but not good with a shield like Cassandra or Blackwall. She liked to watch them spar, liked to watch two stubborn entities butt heads. Or shields, to be specific.

"Thank you so much, Harritt," she said sincerely.

"Thanks goes to our Inquisitor, Galloway."

With the rest of the day free, it wasn't hard to figure out what to do. There was plenty to be done around Skyhold, especially with teams of men and women working tirelessly to make repairs. Still, she was going to take advantage of her release from work. She wandered through the gardens for a while, thinking idly.

She missed her sisters terribly. The twins looked incredibly alike, being twins and all, but Regan looked nothing like them. They had red hair, she had nearly black hair. They had green eyes, she had blue. They were shorter than average, she was taller than average. They were nice and sweet, Regan was more of a sarcastic chaotic neutral. Still, they got along great, all three of them. They were the fucking Three Musketeers whenever they were together.

She missed listening to Holland talk about the next thing she was learning about. One day it would be about some historical movement, the next it would be about how powdered Gatorade to mix is far better than the bought liquid stuff. Hallie would no doubt be neck-deep in a thick book about something or another. Perhaps one of her favorite classics like  _Oliver Twist_. 

She  _didn't_ miss her parents.

They-

"Galloway?"

For the second time that day, Regan found herself in the attention of Commander Cullen Rutherford. She quickly snapped to attention and saluted with a curt, "Commander."

He seemed confused at her action for all of two seconds before shaking his head and giving her a nod. "I doubt you'll be saluting me anymore once you return," he said.

"But you're...my commanding officer?" Regan frowned. 

He gestured to a stone bench and they sat. "The Inquisitor likes you. You stand apart from the other soldiers in skill and character. It's only a matter of time before you become a member of her inner circle. That's what..." he rubbed the back of his neck absentmindedly. "That's what I would think, at least. It seems to be the theme of her friends."

"And you, Commander?" she asked. "You're her military advisor. Surely that applies to you too?" She offered a tentative smile. "How did Cullen Rutherford join the Inquisition?"

Cullen returned her smirk. "How about a game?" Regan raised an eyebrow. "You ask a question about me, then I ask one about you. If we don't want to answer, a different question is asked."

"Sounds fun. I'm yours to read, Commander."

"Where are you from?"

 _Fuck._ "I'm from a little down called Grafton in the States." It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't a complete truth. Yes, her hometown was Grafton, Wisconsin, and yes, Wisconsin was in the  _Mid_ west, but she still felt a little guilty about not telling  _the_ truth. She just hoped that Cullen figured that "states" meant the Free Marches city states. She didn't want to leave any room for pondering, so she quickly asked. "Where are  _you_ from?"

"Honnleath, originally," he answered. "It's not terribly far from here, in fact. I joined the Inquisition in Kirkwall, however. Do you have any siblings?"

"Two sisters. They're twins. Holland and Hallie. I've confused then more times than I can count, but they don't look anything like me. They're three years younger than me and just...fantastic. I love them so much."

"When did you see them last?" he asked softly.

She smirked. "I believe that was another question, Commander," she laughed. He smiled as well and apologized nicely. "Let me guess how many siblings  _you_ have." She thought for a minute, estimating based on nothing that would actually give merit. He was blonde. He was definitely masculine. And yet there was that soft aspect she found herself liking. "You're the youngest of three sisters," she guessed.

Cullen laughed. "False," he stated promptly.

"Damn! How close was I?"

"I  _do_ have an older sister, Mia, but I'm the second child. Then Branson, then Rosalie." That softness about him was more prevalent. Regan sensed he was comfortable talking to her. "Um...favorite bedtime story as a kid?"

" _Goodnight Moon_!" she almost shouted immediately, startling Cullen. "I'm sorry!" she laughed. "My mother used to read it to me almost every night as a kid. And  _Runaway Bunny_. And  _There's a Monster at the End of this Book_." A wave of nostalgia washed over Regan and she found herself tearing up. "Shit," she muttered, wiping at her eyes. "Do you ever wish you could go back to being a kid? When you didn't have to worry about anything and your family was your whole world?"

"Of course."

They sat quietly for a minute, both staring blankly at the garden. Regan was realizing how much she was missing home. But it wasn't "home" was it? No, she was missing her childhood. Skinned knees and training wheels. Those long afternoons playing house with her best friend in elementary school. The late and sweaty nights at Skateland in middle school. Spending her first New Year's as a legal adult getting drunk with new friends. She missed not caring. She missed living for today and thinking about tomorrow when it became today. She wondered what her family thought had happened to her. Did they think she had finally cracked and taken her own life? Did they think she took an unplanned vacation and didn't plan on coming back? Did they even know she was gone yet? She didn't have an official job to be missing and her bills were set to auto-pay, so it was quite likely that nobody had figured anything out yet. 

"I, um..." Regan got to her feet abruptly. "I need to go find Cherry and make sure she'll be taken care of while I'm gone." She strode off, but quickly spun around to give her salute and automatic "Commander," before hurrying off.

She wasn't sure why she was in such a  rush to leave. Leave where, exactly? It was too early to go back to the barracks.  _I could go to the tavern? Maybe? Jesus, when was the last time I was in a bar?_ Well, thinking about it wasn't going to get her buzzed. She found her way to the Herald's Rest and plunked down on a bar stool, catching Cabot's attention and sipping on a mug of ale. Being the middle of the day, the head count in the tavern was thin. Everyone was either training, working, or gone. Regan nearly snorted into her mug when she realized how much she stood out now. The large majority of people around Skyhold wore the sigil somewhere on themselves, whether it be on a breastplate, a shield, or woven into their clothing. Regan didn't. She looked like a cocky sellsword from  _Game of Thrones._ Maybe that's what she was. She had practically been plucked out of the army by request of the Inquisitor. 

She couldn't see where her life was heading. She way laying the track down as the train moved. The trick was not falling behind.

\---

_December 24th, 2014_

_Regan covered her face with her hands and succumbed to the tears. The world around her was racing far faster than her drunk mind could register. Things blurred together when she moved and she felt wrong. Wrong in so many ways. Emotionally, physically, spiritually. Hallie kept talking beside her, going on and on about their sorrows, but Regan would admit being too drunk to listen. How would either of them be able to give the Uber coherent directions if they were piss drunk and sobbing?_

_"It wasn't our fault," Hallie mumbled, sipping on her beer._

_"But what if it was?" Regan gasped suddenly, more drunken tears following the ones before. "What if we_ could _have done something? What if we caught it earlier?"_

_"The vet said it was a sudden onset, Re!" Hallie countered. Her green eyes were glazed over with intoxication, but she stared right into Regan's soul. She could tell her sister was trying desperately to keep them afloat._

_Desperation seemed to be the theme of the day._

_"We couldn't do anything," she continued.  
_

_"That's what gets me!" Regan said perhaps too loudly. A few other bar patrons glanced at her before going back to their own business. "We_ should  _have been able to do something! And now-" She let her face fall back to her hands as she kept crying._

 _"We_ did _do something, Re! We made a decision. He doesn't hurt anymore."_

_It seemed silly. They were both drunk off their asses on Christmas Eve, in a hole in the wall, crying over their dog. A dog they had decided to put down earlier that day. Besides their parents and Holland, nobody knew. Being the only ones home for the next week, Regan and Hallie had been forced to make their heartbreaking decision. Saying goodbye to such a good boy on the eve of a worldwide holiday meant for good cheer seemed like a sick joke. Christmas was not supposed to be about goodbyes!_

_Regan voiced the last statement aloud and it broke Hallie. Her sister clung to her arm and sobbed into her shoulder. "Let it out, babe," Regan slurred, turning to hug her younger sister properly, soothing her hair down. "Let it all the fuck out. Don't give a single shit." Hallie clung to Regan tightly._

_"He was such a good boy!" she blubbered._

_"He very best of boys," Regan agreed softly. Getting sad drunk definitely hadn't been a good idea, but it had been the only one that made sense. Drinking didn't require much thought. Shots did, but only when you weren't gone yet. They had led the night with three back to back tequila shots each. Then an ale for Regan and a beer for Hallie. The events following had already been rubbed out of her memory._

_"I don't know what to do."_

_"Want to have another drink?"_

_"Fuck no." There was a pause. "Gimme one anyway."_

_Regan glanced at her phone screen, then put it down. Realizing she hadn't even processed what the time was, she looked at her phone again, staring intently at it for a solid five seconds. "Oh shit!" She burst out laughing for no reason. "Hallie...Hallie!" Her sister was pressing her cold beer to her forehead, eyes closed, dangerously close to spilling it on the bar. "Hallie!" Her sister opened her eyes to glare at her. "Hallie, we gotta meet Aunt Karen at church in an hour!" She kept laughing, quickly losing control of her emotions._

_Not that she had much control over them in the first place._

_Hallie cursed and set her head on the bar. "Fuck, really? An_ hour _? We have an hour to get something to eat and show up to church_ _sober!"_

_"We're not gonna be sober," Regan chortled, trying harder than should be necessary to locate the Uber app on her phone, calling up someone and suggesting they go outside to get some fresh air. Hallie agreed, but not before chugging her beer down, Regan watching with a dropped jaw. They paid off their drinks and tried their absolute hardest to stumble out of the bar without bumping in to anyone or anything, giggling relentlessly._

_"Fuck!" Regan exclaimed far too loudly once they were outside the back door of the bar. It led to a deck that had a small set of stairs to get down to the tiny parking lot. "Hal, there's-" She gripped the railing tightly to laugh, worried her legs wouldn't hold her up. She proved herself right when her grip failed and she tumbled to the deck, losing her breath in laughter. Hallie crumbled next to her on her knees, breathing shallowly and wheezing with laughter in between._

_"There's stairs!" Regan gasped, holding her middle. "How in the fuck are we gonna act sober in less than an hour?"_

_Hallie just shook her head and took several deep breaths, slowly and shakily getting to her feet. She got down the stairs relatively fine, but Regan had to scoot down on her butt, laughing the whole way. Soon enough, their Uber pulled up and they clambered in._

_"Yeah, can we go to the drive thru?" Hallie asked drunkenly, making Regan nearly cry with laughter._

_"Excuse me?" their driver asked._

_Hallie giggled and tried again. "We're very drunk, as you can tell. It's been one shitty fucking Christmas Eve. We would love it so much if you could run us to the nearest McDonalds for some nuggets."_

_"Uh...I guess?"_

_"Yes!" Regan cheered._

_Nuggets acquired, ride over, Regan tipped the fantastic gentleman a hundred dollars for his grief. They got back to their mom's house, got dressed, and waited for Holland to pick them up._

_The most perfect, terrible day in Regan's memory._

_"Over the rainbow bridge," Hallie had said, "We'll follow you someday."_

_\---_

Four years later, Regan snickered at the memory of getting horribly drunk with her sister. Having to put their dog down had put her in a major depression episode for months. It didn't help that it had happened on Christmas Eve and was amplified by her seasonal depression. She had made an emergency call to VA hospital a couple of minutes later and they showed up at her house in two cop cars, no doubt worried she would do something unpredictable if they didn't act fast.

And, well...she had.

The jagged scar across each wrist was plenty of evidence she had tried. Every day since, she kept them covered up with some sort of band around her wrists. They assigned Cherry to her and had routine checkups for her to attend every week. The sessions helped, but Cherry helped more. 

"Dog people need dogs," her therapist had said. "They say having kids is like living with a part of your heart outside your body. Dogs are like living with one of your kidneys outside your body. You don't need both kidneys, but it's  _really_ nice to have two."


	3. For the one I love most lay sleeping by me under the same cover in the cool night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regan gets a proper taste of Ferelden and learns more the Inquisitor and some of her companions. Recounts her senior prom night while on her nighttime watch and talks a little with the Bull.

"Have you decided on a nickname for her yet, Varric?" the Iron Bull asked at the campfire their first night. 

Bull was sharpening his absurdly large battleaxe. Varric was lounging in front of his tent, penning something in his travel journal. Inquisitor Lavellan was lying flat on her back, threading wisps of magic through her fingers above her face. Regan herself was sitting on a large boulder, struggling to get her prosthetic out of her boot. The first day in the Hinterlands had been...eventful, some would say. 

"Now, now, Tiny, you can't rush creativity," Varric chuckled. "This is only her first outing with us! We need to break her in, get to know her before I decide on a name."

"How about Peg Leg?" Regan joked, successfully getting her boot off and kicking out her prosthetic. They had a good laugh.

"All scars have their stories," Bull said.

Regan chortled. "This is one helluva scar, Bull." She got her prosthetic off and slipped off her suspension. "Ah, well, wartime souvenir. Or, donation, I suppose. Last thing I remember was a really loud explosion and a really bright flash. Woke up in a hospital a week later."  _Haha! Obsure_ Harry Potter _reference!_ "I was twenty."

"And yet you walk like you never lost it," Lavellan noted.

"Eight and a half years of experience, dear Inquisitor. I've gone through three legs since then." She paused, scrunching up her nose. "God, that sounded odd."

"Technically you've gone through four legs," Bull said.

"Ha! That's a good one. I'll have to revise my claims!"

"College, you say?" Varric said curiously. "Studying what?"

"The arts. Mostly performance. Singing, some theatre..."

"One-legged dancer?"

Regan chuckled quietly, remembering. "No, I danced before I lost my leg."

The other three quickly took up another conversation, giving her a bit of time to contemplate. The day had been long, but she had worked longer days. She had kept up surprisingly well, even with only one proper leg. She was a little sore in places, but feeling overall fine, despite everything. Despite being a whole new fucking world. Despite all the killing she had done.

Killing wasn't a new activity, so to say. War was war. 

The blood was a bit new, to be honest. The sheer volume of it anyway. Regan had never thought she would be so close to the death and the blood. To straight up stick someone with a sword like they were a fucking kebab and then get the blood on her hands. Everything moved so fast, like someone was fast forwarding a VHS tape. Her lack of reaction to killing people so close worried her slightly. She tugged absentmindedly at the bands covering her wrists.  _Is this the top of the hill? Am I going to tumble down again after climbing so high?_ She shook her head free of her thoughts and volunteered to take the first watch, slipping her prosthetic back on. Varric disappeared into his tent and Bull into his own. Lavellan, however, lingered.

"You're a natural," she said suddenly.

Regan looked up at her. "Pardon?"

She tucked her hair behind her pointed ear. "I was worried I was asking a bit much of you to come out here. I was sort of expecting you to refuse."

"I was the one that offered my services, Inquisitor, and I believe I said 'whatever that entails.' Though, I do have to admit that I feel like I should have...something more than just a single sword. Everyone else has their trademark weapons." She smirked. "Maybe I should tie two swords together and swing them around."

Lavellan giggled. "You'll find something," she said. "Stay safe out here, Regan." She retired to her own tent.

\---

_May 25th, 2008_

_"Would you hit me if I said you looked visually attractive?" Jack whispered in her ear as they danced._

_Regan snickered. "Honestly, I'd be a little offended if you didn't," she giggled. "So, no, I won't hit you...this time." She was finding her senior prom to be far more interesting than her junior prom, especially since Connor Rafferdy could be found outside in the venue's courtyard with a flask of tequila, and supposedly more stashed away somewhere. Regan had a nice buzz going on. "I could say the same for you, handsome."_

_"Your boyfriend might be jealous of me if he heard you say that."_

_"Reed isn't my boyfriend, remember?" she chided him. The slow, sensual song kept flowing through the hall as Jack absorbed what she said. The silence between them was making her anxious. "I came to prom with you, Jack, not him. And it takes a lot of motivation for me to put on heels."_

_"They're not that tall," he protested._

_"They're four inches!" she giggled. "That's like turning me into a skyscraper! You're lucky you're six foot!"_

_"I'm surprised you agreed to come to prom with me at all."_

_Regan paused. "Why's that?"_

_Jack looked down at their feet. They weren't really dancing so much as swaying to the slow tempo of the music. "I thought it would be obvious," he said softly._

_Regan stared at him. She didn't know how to respond. Jack spun her a few times, her opal dress swirling around her. She didn't feel especially attractive. She never had. She didn't care much for her looks most of the time. However, like last year, her friend Natalie had nearly tied her to a chair and covered her face in makeup. It wasn't hard to guess what Jack's angle was, what he was implying. If she was being honest, she was flattered. Jack himself was attractive enough. Tall with waves of dark hair like her own and dark eyes that were warmed with compassion and boyish attitude. Lanky and fast from being a sprinter on the track team. A total nerd as well. He was the head of the Military History Book Club._

_The song ended. Something had to happen._

_"Come on," Regan said, taking his hand and leading him to the outdoor lounge area. Outdoor chairs sat around an electric campfire, but she led them off to the side where a set of stairs led down to the grounds of the venue. It was something like a country club of rentable venues, so they had a large backyard of sorts, paths lit by little lights winding through a handful of tall oak trees._

_"It's a warm night," Jack commented._

_Regan stopped them. "You can say what you want, Jack," she said. "It's just me. You know me."_

_"I do." He took a deep breath. "I mean, I like you, Regan. And I kinda..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I've kinda liked you for a while now."_

_Regan's cheeks poofed pink. "Oh?" She went to tuck her hair behind her ear, but her hair was too short to stay there. "How long, exactly."_

_Jack barked out a laugh. "Well...do you remember that night we were talking over the phone and you were on that canoeing trip at your uncle's house?"_

_"Near the Buffalo River in Alma, yeah. We got caught in that hilariously heavy rainstorm on our way home." She paused. "Wait... Jack that was last summer!" She could see his own cheeks blush and he avoided her eyes, mumbling his confirmation. "Nearly a year?"_

_"Not...exactly? I just did some thinking that night. How I liked spending time with you, talking to you, joking with you, things like that. So I went and took my dog for a walk and thought some more about it. And, well...yeah, about a year."_

_"And you never thought to act on it?"_

_"Oh, sure, all the time. But..." He shrugged. "I dunno. Wasn't sure if you were interested."_

_"Ask."  
_

_"What?"_

_Regan smirked, feeling daring. "Ask me. Ask me if I'm interested."_

_Jack's blush intensified. He cleared his throat and chuckled nervously. "Um...are you...interested? In me?"_

_Regan's smirk was upgraded to a sweet smile. "Yes," she said confidently. His eyebrows shot up. "Yes," she said again. She took a step closer to him and straightened his wonderful mauve tie, resting her hands on his chest after. "You're a total sweet and endearing boy of a man. You're funny, cute, and a track star who's getting a full ride in college. Who wouldn't be interested in that?"_

_Jack kissed her, his hands settling on her hips. She couldn't help but smile through it, threading her arms behind his head. Their bodies were flush against each other. Their lips fought a heated battle, and soon their tongues joined the fray. Her mind was promptly wiped blank and she allowed her body's instincts to take over. She threaded her hands through his curly hair. She gasped quietly when he trailed his lips from hers down her jawline, settling on her pulse point. She let her head fall back and allowed her mind to run free in sensation._

_"Do you wanna...ah!" She laughed at her own reaction to his teeth gently dragging down her neck. "Wanna find somewhere more...not so out in the open?" He chuckled and suggested his house._

_"My parents are out of town at my grandparents'."_

_"Are you sure?"_

_"Are_ you _sure?"_

_She giggled at his trademark cheek. "I'm all yours, Jack Harrider."_

_They dumped the prom, seeing that there was no great reason to stay, and a far more exciting reason to leave. Regan could feel her heart pounding as they got in Jack's car. She turned on the radio, found a suitable station, and tried to ease her own tension by singing along to_ I Want You Back _by the Jackson 5. The windows were rolled down, a beautiful breeze snaking through the car interior, smelling of a promising warm summer._

 _Walking into Jack's room, her confidence waned. Nerves started to creep into her weak points. "I've always loved your room," she noted absentmindedly. Jack was a classic geek. He had video game posters everywhere, but he was particularly proud of his_ Resident Evil _posters. He was obsessed with the games. He had even gone as Leon Kennedy to a Halloween party. Regan had agreed to go with him as Ada in her cocktail dress. Her heels were killing her by the end of the night. She had a framed picture of them in costume propped up on her desk at home._

_Before she knew it, Jack's lips were on her again. He had taken his suit and tie off, but still adorned everything else. She kicked off her heels, dropping those four inches. While he fumbled with the tiny zipper at the back of her dress, she pulled at his button up. She pushed it off him and tugged his undershirt free of his pants. He was still fighting with her zipper when she pulled his belt free and let it drop to the floor, his pants following moments later. He stepped out of them, leaving him in just his boxers and undershirt. The bulge of his arousal was plain for her to see._

_Regan giggled as Jack failed to undo her zipper yet again. "Here, just..." she put a hand on his chest and backed him up to his bed, getting him to sit on the edge. She turned her back on him so he could see what he was doing as he made his final attempt to free her from her dress. He seemed to notice the tiny hook clip above the zipper and undid that first._

_"Why was that so hard for me?" he joked._

_She turned back around and gave him a smile. "Maybe you're just not as in touch with your feminine side," she shot back, trying to ignore how her nerves were bundling in her stomach as he slid her straps down her shoulders. The dress dropped suddenly around her ankles, leaving her in her matching bra and boyshorts underwear. She laughed suddenly. "My unspeakables match your tie," she pointed out, giggling._

_He shrugged and winked. "It's an attractive color," he said, offering his hand. Regan gave hers and yelped when he pulled her to straddle his hips, still giggling. He swept his shirt off and settled his hands on her hips again. She cradled his face in her hands and kissed him softly._

_"You realize we're kinda fucking on the first date?" she said, grinning._

_Jack laughed with her. "Yeah, well..." He shrugged again. "My apologies, Regan Galloway."_

_"By all means, go right ahead Jack Harrider."_

_"You'll have to shed some clothing."_

_"Oh, right."_ Stop freaking out, stop freaking out, stop freaking out. _Regan shuffled off of his hips and swallowed a nervous gasp as he moved to undress her himself. Her boyshorts joined the rest of their clothes on the floor. Trying to even the playing field, she pulled at his red boxers while he fumbled with the clip of her bra._

_"Stupid, damn..." He frowned and looked over her shoulder. "Give a man a hand, my lady."_

_"How are you ever gonna live up to your life's dream of becoming the next Leon 'Sex God' Kennedy if you can't even figure out how women's clothing works?" she teased him._

_"At least I'm giving it my best shot."_

_\---_

Regan was sharpening her sword when the Iron Bull came out to take his turn for the night watch.

"Any red templars stop for a chat?" he asked, stretching.

"If only something  _half_ as interesting like that had happened," she answered. She sheathed her sword and put away her tools. She tried not to stare at Bull, despite her desperate want to. She just wanted to see. Qunari had been, by far, the oddest thing Thedas had presented to her, stranger than magic. She could invision magic in her head. She had seen it in movies and imagined it when she read books. But horned men and women who were over a foot taller than the average human man? She wanted to laugh. Bull was easily over two feet taller than Regan. 

"Tell me something, Regan," Bull said suddenly, snapping her to attention. "How does a one-legged war veteran end up on the side of a mountain, in the middle of a snowstorm, with nothing on her but the clothes on her back and a dog trying to keep her warm?"

Regan stared at the fire, considering her options.  _"Ben-Hassrath,_ _"_ she said. "Lyanna told me you might figure something out about me." She looked up at him. "Let's see if you think my answer to your question is a lie." He frowned at her. "I don't know how I ended up here. In Ferelden. In Thedas. I have no fucking clue." An uncomfortable silence settled between them. Bull was intimidating, sure, but there was a lot Regan wasn't afraid of. And she knew for certain Bull wouldn't hurt her, and she had even told him the truth. At this point, what else was there to lose? "Am I lying, the Iron Bull?"

He sat down on a log near the fire and considered her carefully. "I wouldn't say you are," he said promptly.

She nodded once. "Stay safe out here, Bull," she said quietly. "We can talk more tomorrow."

\---

_Regan nearly laughed at the sound she made. Something soft like a whimper but breathy like a gasp. And then she did laugh. Quietly, following it up with a smattering of kisses on Jack's neck. Her legs came up and wrapped around his hips, heels pressing into his back. Jack murmured something about being her being okay, being comfortable, and she would have loved to reply had she not been so preoccupied and amused. The only reply she could give was a soft kiss on the curve of his jawline. She pressed her heels harder into his back, making Jack moan deep in his chest._

_"Jesus, Jack, move," she breathed._

_"Sorry," he grunted with a huff of a laugh, drawing back slightly before bringing their hips back together slowly. Another huff of a laugh rushed out of his lungs and he cursed. "Never thought..."_

_"Alright there, Leon?" she teased, her lips finding the lobe of his ear and sucking slightly. She smiled widely at the sound of pleasure it drew from him, but her mouth quickly dropped when his hips snapped against hers roughly. "Fuck! Oh, Jesus..." No doubt spurred on by her words practically ragged with pleasure, Jack picked up the pace of his hips. She tried her best to meet his thrusts with her own hips, but her wiggle room beneath him was restricted. "Jack...Jack, you're kinda crushing me," Regan gasped._

_"Sorry," he panted, taking more of his weight on his elbows on either side of her. His brown eyes, somehow even darker with the lust of the moment, scanned her face with something that looked like reverence. "Fuck, Re...you're beautiful..."_ _She would have answered his compliment with one of her own had she not been so preoccupied. Heat was running rapidly through every muscle and fiber of her body. He was hitting a spot that her hands were too short to reach, making her shake with pleasure. Her painted nails scratched at his back, leaving red reels in their wake._

_"You need to...fuck...wait!" Jack gasped suddenly and thrust into her one final time before spending himself. He cursed again and propped himself up look at Regan again. "Did you...?"_

_She shook her head, her brows furrowing. "Just...Jesus..." He left her somewhat quickly, making her gasp once again, this time in slight discomfort. She sighed and let her head fall back, staring at his ceiling. She tried not to frown as her body begged for her release just around the next spike of pleasure. Jack shuffled up beside her, leaving gentle kisses on her cheek and neck. He murmured an apology into her skin._

Way to pick your first time, Regan, _she chided herself._

\---

Regan jumped backwards out of the way of a longsword swung towards her face. She retaliated by swinging her own sword, aimed at the bandit's middle. He blocked it with his shield and bashed her with its metal face. She was momentarily blinded with pain and the whiteness of pure blunt impact, quickly replaced with red anger. She kept her sword up and ignored the intense throbbing coming from the bridge of her nose. The man was left handed. She had to think opposite. She had to get creative. They exchanged a few more blows until she had an idea. The opportunity to act of it came quickly. He raised his sword once again, leaving part of him open as he shifted his shield away from him to get the momentum for his swing. 

In a flash, Regan switched her sword to her left hand and raised her arm, glancing the blow off of her bracer and thrusting her sword forward with all the strength she possessed in her non-dominant hand. Her blade sunk through his mismatched set of leather armor and left a hole to paint the ground red. She left no time to examine her work. She stepped back and went on to her next mark. The screaming chaos of battle was familiar to her, but to personally jump in and use every ounce of effort to keep herself and others alive. Her days with the Inquisitor in the Hinterlands were forcing her to adapt quickly. If not, she would quickly fall prey to Thedas' demands. 

When the ring of swords and the buzz of magic faded from the air, Regan allowed herself to relax a little and turn her attention to the killer pain coming from her nose. 

"Alright there, Regan?" Varric called. She nodded, quickly finding a boulder to sit down on, mentioning something about her nose. Varric slung Bianca on his back and made his way to her, asking to take a look. She lifted her head and closed her eyes. "Yep, looks like you've broken it. Want me to set it for you?"

"Yeah, I guess. This is gonna hurt, isn't it?"

"Very much, yes," he chuckled. "Ready?"

"Nope. Do it."

Varric quickly grabbed her nose and jerked it into the correct position, lighting up Regan's face as if her bones and cartridge were made of white hot metal. She managed to keep from screaming, but she couldn't help the pained growl that escaped from her lungs. Her teeth practically throbbed along with her pain. Hot tears streamed down her face. "Oh, fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck," she breathed, bending over herself, praying for the pain to stop. "That was terrible," she gasped, her vision still blurred by tears of pain. "Thanks, Varric."

He gave her a charming smile. "Don't sweat it," he said.

Regan loved the Hinterlands. Despite the broken nose, she could still appreciate the overwhelming smell of pine and dirt. Varric had said he hated it, but Regan couldn't help the smirk that was stuck on her face most of the time. The towering sentinel pines and the sunshine filtering in through the needles took her back to the sweet summers on Moon Lake. Walking along red painted cabins, hearing kids cheer from the volleyball court, hearing the bell that announced lunchtime. Hurrying to finish colorful friendship bracelets before the week was out, tying them to the wrists of friends she only saw that one beautiful week out of the year. A week full of music, art, dance, drama, sunburn, swimming, kayaking, hiking, and everything she used to enjoy. Then again, she probably  _would_ still enjoy doing those things.

Clearing the supply lines to the refugee camps around Redcliffe was relatively easy work. A few groups of bandits here and there, the odd rogue mage or outcasted red templar. Regan had learned to think of herself as a machine. Something that was switched on and off according to what she was required to do. She was like Lieutenant Dunbar from  _Dances with Wolves_ _._ The novel, not the movie. The novel described him in the same way, mentioned how all color and compassion left his eyes when he raised his revolver to his adversary. She thought of herself the same way, felt the chill that raced through her blood as she brought up her sword to attack or defend. Cold fury mixed with hot adrenaline screamed beneath her skin. 

Inquisitor Lavellan seemed wary of Redcliffe itself. There was definitely history between her and the village. Well, she had no qualms against the village, but Regan caught her glaring at the castle. Like Lavellan, Regan couldn't keep her eyes off it, but in wonder rather than anger. The weathered red stone jutting out of the cliffside towered above Lake Calenhad. A massive bridge connected the castle to the road leading down to the village nestled right on the shore. They milled around the docks for supplies, but Lavellan was fixed on not staying long, mentioning a plan to make camp further down the shore. Varric seemed intent on leaving the village behind as well. Regan was dying to ask questions, but knew it would be incredibly rude.

Once camp was set, everyone set to relaxing in their own way, but it was only a few short minutes until Varric was roping the three of them into story. Copper marigolds and Kirkwall's Wounded Coast back from his time with Garrett Hawke. Regan could tell Varric enjoyed talking about his best friend, but she saw a sadness in his eyes by the end of the story. She understood more than she would admit to anyone. Her friend Natalie had mentioned seeing something similar whenever she talked about her shenanigans at the base she was stationed at in Afghanistan.

Absolutely dying for some sort of wash, Regan gave a quick word of warning to the other three and made her way to the lake. After living through the Army, both basic training, drill, and living overseas until her discharge, she had little to no reservations about stripping near naked and all but running into the cool waters. She didn't have any soap to scrub her skin clean, but the water was enough to help her scrap the dried blood free of her with her nails. She chuckled, still halfway in her memories, still halfway in the northwoods of Wisconsin. Days abruptly set in motion with a sprint into the frigid morning waters all for bragging rights and a fun little certificate that she framed in her room for  _more_ bragging rights. 

She nearly yelped when she realized what her toes were dragging against below her. She took a deep breath and dove down, scooping her hands into the ground and resurfacing with her fingers coated in mucky clay. Clay exactly like the stuff her and her sisters used to play with on the family vacations on the Mississippi River in Buffalo County. Scorching hot sands searing their feet as they dashed down the dunes and into the water. Smearing the clay over their arms and face and taking turns as the "Mississippi River Ghoul." She squished the clay between her palms and smiled, remembering her bright childhood. 

"Having fun there?"

Regan jumped so hard she nearly dunked herself underwater and choked. Spotting who spoke, she raised the ball of clay and chucked it at the Iron Bull along with a fiery curse. "If you were trying to make me piss myself, Bull, you nearly succeeded!" She threw her head back and groaned loudly. "Come to enjoy the waters? Unless you're here to steal my leg next to my clothes, in which case, please don't. I can't walk without it," she added with a giggle. 

It seemed that Bull  _also_ had no reservations about stripping down and making his way into the water. Though, unlike her, he stripped  _all the way_ down. A furious blush poofed onto her cheeks and she avoided making eye contact until he was in the water. She thanked whatever guardian angel was watching over her that she looked away before her chaste eyes would later need bleach. 

"It's clay." She explained her strange attachment to the material. "I can't tell you how many times I took a ball of clay in the face when my sisters and I got serious." She shook her head free of her looming thoughts of better days. "Anyway...I'm sure you're not just here for a bath in the lake, then?" Bull tipped his head, indicating indifference. "Still think I was telling the truth the other day?"

"Sure," he confirmed, dunking his head beneath the waters briefly. "You talk about your past like Varric does. Varric exaggerates, but he rarely lies. The Inquisitor trusts you, said you promised to always tell her the truth. She respects you. That means a lot to the rest of us. We don't follow her for nothing, Regan."

"Hmm." 

"You're something different, Regan Galloway. I like that."

 _Pardon?_ She cleared her throat. "I'm taking that as a compliment." She dove down and brought up another handful of clay, shaping it into an ugly looking bowl. Bull asked her a question she didn't quite catch. "Hmm?"

"Your tattoos. Noticed them the other day, forgot to ask."

She laughed. "Where do I start?" she joked. She looked down at her chest, between her right breast and collarbone where a smattering of bright marigolds were etched into her skin. A little bee rested on one of them. "Marigolds. Don't you dare tell Varric. My grandma used to plant them every summer. And I like bees, so...there's a bee." She moved so her arms were above the water, pointing to her right shoulder. "This was the first one." A hand holding a foreign coin with the words "Valar Morghulis" written on a red ribbon. "'All men must die,'" she quoted. "Sort of morbid, but I love it."

She exposed the inside of her left forearm. Four black paw prints. "I've had four dogs in my life, including Cherry." She flashed a grin. "Dog people need dogs, Bull." Then she exposed her other forearm where the words, "Dark Wings, Dark Words," sat. "Uh...my sister Hallie and I used to joke that ravens hardly carried good news." She motioned to his arms and shoulders, eager to shift the focus away from her. "What about yours? What do they say about the Iron Bull?"

So he told her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly couldn't think of a good story behind Bull's tattoos, so apologies for not including it.


	4. remember that night when we said goodbye?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regan discovers Theodosian chess and remembers her sisters at Christmastime.

_July 30th, 2008_

_"How are classes going?" Regan asked her friend Fiona as they walked._

_"I nearly tripped in front of my sort-of-boyfriend in our dance class!" she exclaimed in response. Regan laughed along with her. "He's too sweet and endearing for me to fuck this up!" Fiona was a good friend. The kind that always offered to "cut a bitch" for you, but would probably never hurt a fly. Total hipster, short hair that could be rocked in any style, and an absolute nerdiest nerd to have ever graced the streets of Grafton, Wisconsin._

_Lion's Den Gorge was perfect for spilling all sorts of tea, serious or whimsical. They were hiking their frustrations off. The filtered light through the greener-than-green leaves of summer trees always seemed to relax Regan. They could see Lake Michigan off to their right, just a hop, skip, and a jump off a set of cliffs. The solid blue waves rolled along steadily in the summer breezes, seagulls bobbing along lazily. Songbirds tweetled through the trees. It was nice._

_"'Sort-of-boyfriend,'" Regan giggled. "Jesus, you need to jump on that nice man before Anastasia steals him. She'll jump on anything. Quite literally, too." They shared another laugh._

_"You're telling me you've got no juicy secrets in your maybe-nonexistent love life?"_

_They rounded a corner. Birch trees lined the dirt path. "Meh," she sighed. "Nothing exciting." She shrugged. "Well, 'exciting' is a matter of opinion."_

_Fiona squinted at her. "Meaning?"_ _Regan laughed, fifty percent of it laced with nerves. Fiona's eyes grew wide. "Wait, what the fuck happened with you and Jack?" Regan made a sound and shook her head, smiling. "Regan, you_ have _to tell me! It's a classic Girl Code moment!"_

_Unabashed, Regan blurt out, "Well, I mean, we had sex on prom night."_

_Fiona nearly shrieked with laughter. "Prom night sex!" she cried. "That's too much! Ha!" They stopped walking so Fiona could catch her breath._

_"Done?"_

_"No!" She doubled over, continuing to laugh. "You had sex with Jack on prom night! Jesus Christ! What's the rating?"_

_Regan shrugged again as they continued their hike. "I'm sure_ he _had a fun time. Me, on the other hand..." She considered the embarrassment for only a second before throwing her cards down and saying, "Yeah, I didn't come."_

_"HA! I mean, that sucks for you, but HA!"_

_"He's totally sweet and all, but I feel like he couldn't find a clit even if there were some neon painted arrows pointing to it!"_

_Fiona choked as she continued to laugh._

_\---_

Regan let out an ungodly yelp when her prosthetic slipped on a patch of ice and nearly sent her crashing to the frozen ground. Her arms flew out to regain her balance, no doubt making her look like a chicken with its head cut off. Once satisfied with her regained footing, she continued her run. She realized she probably looked ridiculous when she ran due to her improper foot, calf, and shin. She spotted a couple of soldiers take a second glance, but she hardly cared. Harritt had been kind enough to make some modifications to the addition she used to wear a boot, making her prosthetic feel a little more like a foot than it already did.

Thedas was beginning to feel more like a home than Earth ever did.

But she couldn't help but miss a few things. Hot showers. Her  _Bob and Brian_ CD collection downloaded to her phone. Diet Coke. Her bookshelf.  _Game of Thrones._ Pop-Tarts. Her Japanese cat plushie she bought on a high school summer trip to Disney World's Epcot. Her friends. Her sisters. Her sweatshirt that had the bees all over it.

 _Sera would appreciate that last one,_ she thought with a huff of a laugh, slowing to a walk. Cherry, who had been running beside her, slowed as well, panting happily. Regan spared a moment to play with her ears for a moment. Cherry licked her fingers enthusiastically, barking once. 

Another dog answered her bark. Cherry's head snapped up, her ears perked as high as they would go. Regan followed her line of sight, spotting a  _huge_ warhound bouncing around Commander Cullen's feet as he read through a report. Both dogs were itching to say hello, to play. Regan pecked a kiss on Cherry's velvet head and murmured permission. She yipped happily and bounded over to the warhound. Regan made her way over as well, smiling as the two dogs practically vibrated with excitement as they said hello. 

"Pardon me, Commander," Regan said, saluting briefly before turning her attention back to the dogs. "I think they've both made a new friend." She crouched down and laughed as both dogs licked at her hands, her face, and wiggled as she ran her fingers through their fur. Cherry's was long and silky while the warhound's was short and wiry. Her previous family dog, Clifford, had short hair.

"They like to play when you're away," Cullen noted, turning to greet her. "Her name is Lucy."

"My uncle's dog's name is Lucy!" she laughed. She planed a firm kiss on Lucy's wet nose. "Hello, Lucy! Who's a good girl? Who's a good girl?" Both dogs jumped with excitement at the tone of her voice, making her laugh more. "Good day, Commander?"

"Better than most," he admitted with a lopsided grin. "The recruits are walking straight, nobody's been sent to the healers, and Rylen has kept his humor in check."

"That last one's a bit hard to believe." They shared a chuckle. 

"I trust the business in the Hinterlands went well? I'm afraid I haven't had the time to read the Inquisitor's report yet."

She nodded, folding her arms across her chest and looking out at the mass of training recruits. "It was...interesting," she started. "My leg is sore is all hell, though. I've never worked that hard with my prosthetic on. Harritt's new addition to it is helping with running and actually  _staying_ on my feet." She smiled. "Cherry was definitely happy to see me when we got back, weren't you you big beluga?" Her red retriever barked and wagged her tail at her. "Good girl. I'd love to take her along, but she's no warhound like I'm sure Lucy is. What do you call them?"

"Mabari," he supplied.

"Right. We saw some at Redcliffe. I love them. And all dogs in general. I've had them all my life. You?"

Cullen granted her a warm grin. "My family used to raise mabari back in Honnleath. Seems like more than one lifetime ago. After the Blight, they moved to South Reach. Does your family still live in the Free Marches?"

Regan's stomach twisted as she scrambled for the right words to say. She painted on a quirky smirk and said, "Are we continuing our game, Commander?"

He returned the smirk. "I believe we are."

 _Think, Regan, you poetry-loving idiot!_ "In that case, my parents separated a few years ago. My mother and my sister Holland live together. Hallie lives by herself, and..." She frowned. "I'm not sure where my father is, actually."

"I'm sorry."

"Oh, don't be! He was kind of an ass towards the end of their marriage. Both of them were. That bitterness just rubbed off on us girls. Hallie even lived with me for a while to get away from it, but I haven't seen Holland in quite a long time. Suppose we were all too excited to chart our own courses." She scoffed. "Apologies, Commander. I doubt you wanted to hear about my past issues."

"It's no problem, Galloway."

"Regan," she insisted. "I've already spent too much of my life answering only to my last name. I'm just Regan here. Please."

"Regan," he echoed, offering a small smile. "Would it be too much to ask you to just call me Cullen? Seeing as you're no longer under my direct command?"

"Slim chances there, Commander," she giggled. "Unfortunately for you, my respect for my superiors has never quite died. Unless I'm drunk, but I haven't been properly inebriated in over a year." She started walking backwards, ready to continue her jog. "But I wish you good luck. Come on, Cherry, race to the camp!" Cherry barked again and bolted for the open gates.

"Gall-...Regan?"

She stopped herself from streaking after her dog and turned back. "Commander?"

"Would you care for a chess match upon your return? Rylen mentioned you liked to play."

She did. "I'll meet you at the board, Commander." Shooting him one last smirk, she rushed to catch up to her dog.

\---

_December 24th, 2014_

_"Jesus-fucking-Christ," Regan cursed, looking at herself in the bathroom mirror. "I look like absolute garbage that someone brought back inside, threw in a blender, and then just threw the whole blender in a fucking crash compactor."_

_"Regan, we're in a church," Hallie sighed,_

_The world was throbbing. No matter how many times she splashed cold water on her face, she couldn't get rid of the drunken blush gracing her cheeks. She felt like going to the hospital and getting her stomach pump. Every inch of her skin was too warm. Not hot, but just on the edge of uncomfortable to the point where a sweat would break on the back of her neck any second. She was dying for something substantial to eat like a big sandwich or a hot bowl of Ramen with some chicken and steamed vegetables. At the mere thought of food, her stomach rumbled, making her all too aware of the bitter pit in her stomach. Her eyes were bloodshot and her face was irritated from the salt of her constant crying from the hours before._

_"Come on, let's grab our candles and go sit down before anyone can notice how fucking fucked we are," she said, waving her sister to the door. They avoided making eye contact with other church-goers, grabbed programs and a candle for each of them, then found the seats Holland had picked out for them towards the back of the sanctuary. The church's pianist, John, played warm renditions of popular Christmas songs._

_"Thought it best if we just sit back here and mind our own business," Holland muttered, keeping her eyes transfixed on the words of the program, but pointing down the aisle. "Aunt Karen and the others are further up. I don't think they know we're here."_

_"Let's keep it like that so we can embarrass ourselves in peace," Hallie joked, giving a thumbs up._

_"Hush," Regan hissed lightly, sighing heavily. "Let's just get through this so we can go home and eat something. Where's Mom?"_

_Holland jerked her chin toward the side where the choir sat. "Up there. Linda's taking over her scripture reading."_

_Pastor Franz stepped up to the podium and began speaking. The service passed in a relative blur. All Regan could focus on was her early onset hangover and the occasional whale call her stomach demonstrated. The readers ran through the classic story of Joseph and Mary and how there was "no space for them in the inn" in Bethlehem. Holland was religious, but Regan and Hallie had expressed plenty of doubts. Still, their mother expected them to be at the service, so they were. However, Regan would have gone alone if she had to. She liked the Christmas Eve service. There was something ethereal about the hour or so they were gathered for. The dimmed sanctuary lit only by the light of the candles they held always struck her with a calm and almost comfortable aura. And then they sang, oh, did they sing. Every year, the melodic tones of_ Silent Night _never failed to resonate through her and send a delightful shiver down her neck._

_Of course, the Galloway sisters being, well, sisters, could never hold a serious tone for longer than a minute or two. Specifically Regan and Hallie. They were the fucking Dynamic Duo of their whole extended family, always finding new ways to get into trouble or make content for stories to bring up the next year and talk about them fondly for more years to come._

_And thus, their Christmas Eve church service tradition was born. All because of one air vent that had accidentally blown Hallie's candle out one year._

_The lights were dimmed as low as they could go without turning off. Everyone waited patiently as the ushers lit their candle from Pastor Franz's and made their way to the pews to pass the flames along. The sisters could barely contain their wicked and grief-driven whimsical smiles as they sat with their little candles cradled in their hands. Holland was picking at the wax with her thumbnail, biting the inside of her lip. Regan stared straight ahead, trying desperately to at least wait until the first verse of_ Silent Night _to start their shenanigans. Hallie, however, had no such patience. She promptly leaned over slightly and blew Regan's candle out with a rather loud puff of air. Regan's midsection twisted into strained knots as she tried to keep her laughter silent. Franz asked them all to stand and begin singing._

_Holland pressed a hand over her mouth, but she couldn't stop the whine that escaped her throat, like she was in pain or about to start sobbing. Fat tears rolled down Regan's already-red cheeks as Hallie re-lit her candle for her. Her hands shook and she was leaning heavily on her left leg. Trying to get her act together, she took a few deep breaths and looked at Holland, attempting with maximum effort to blow her candle out, but all she was rewarded with was a slightly flicker. Hallie made a choked sound and trembled, pinching the bridge of her nose tightly. Regan was blinded with tears. Her knees joined her hands in shaking. Holland was still trying to stifle her whines from trying not to laugh._

This could be it, and I would be totally okay with that, _Regan found herself thinking._ If I were to die right now, that wouldn't upset me.  _She looked straight up at the rafters high above their heads as the congregation continued to meander along in song. "I love you guys so much," she muttered, wiping at her face in vain._

_Hallie cleared her throat unevenly and took a deep breath through her nose. "I love you guys too, but Regan specifically."_

_"Hey!" Holland hissed, almost setting her hair on fire with Regan's candle as she leaned over to blow out Hallie's._

_That set them off once again. Their day had been overall shitty. Regan could feel herself unraveling, like she was blowing away with the wind. The grief of losing their dog was digging away in her chest, hollowing her out, but the joy of laughing with her sisters was trying desperately to combat it. She wanted to do nothing. Truly nothing. Not sleep, she was no longer hungry, and she didn't think talking would do her any good. Finding a distraction for her sounded like torture. To procrastinate their problems and wait for them to simply drift away wasn't her style. The Army had taught her to act with confidence. Act with certainty and relative haste. The fact that she felt so unsure, so insecure and ready to simply lie down and give up...it terrified her more than anything she had ever felt._

_But for the moment, she was happy to lose herself in half-drunken laughter and the lines of_ Silent Night.

\---

Cherry lifted a paw onto Regan's knee and whined. Regan herself shook her head and tried to smile for her best girl. "Sorry, Cherry Berry," she apologized, running her fingers through her fur. "Thanks." She ran a hand through her own hair and straightened up on the garden bench. "Wanna go find the Commander? I believe we promised him a match of black and white." Cherry wagged her tail and got to all four paws, tapping happily.

Cullen was easy to find. He was already locked in a match with Dorian. Regan smirked. She liked Dorian from the first word she heard come out of his mouth. He was charismatic, easygoing, and delightful to be around. She had already spent more than a few afternoons lounging with him in the library, each of them deep in a book of some sort.

"Gloat all you like," Cullen challenged, "I have this one."

Dorian pointedly crossed his legs. "Are you  _sassing_ me, Commander?" he returned, smirking. "I didn't know you had it in you."

"Why do I even..." Cullen's eyes widened when he noticed Regan and Cherry. "Galloway--I mean--Regan." He made to get up from his chair.

Dorian's eyes practically gleamed. "Leaving, are you? Does this mean I win?" Cullen glowered at him and sat back down.

"I hope you're watching his moves carefully, Commander," Regan noted. "Our lovely Inquisitor has mentioned more than a few things about Dorian's, ah,  _tactics._ It's important to play nice."

"I'm  _always_ nice," Dorian insisted, moving a piece.

 _What the actual fucking shit?_ Regan exclaimed inwardly as she spotted the chess board.  _That's a hexagon. That is a motherfucking hexagon, not a square. I don't know how to play hexagonal chess!_

"You need to come to terms with my inevitable victory. You'll feel much better."

"Really?" Cullen moved and placed a piece with a sense of finality and sat back. "Because I just won. And I feel fine."

"Don't get smug," Dorian warned lightly. "There will be no living with you." He got up. "Hello to you too, Regan. Meet you in the library later?"

"I'll bring some wine," she promised, giggling and ducking away before he could ruffle her hair. She turned to Cullen. "I believe you asked for a game, Commander."

He grinned. "I believe I did." He held out a hand for Cherry to sniff and eventually run through her silky fur. "Unless you made other plans?"

"Perish the thought," she said airily, eyeing the hexagon of bi-colored squares. "But it seems I'm at a severe disadvantage, I must admit. I've never played on a hexagonal board."

Cullen frowned at that. "I thought Rylen said-"

"I used to play on square ones." Regan winced as Cullen appeared taken aback by her words. "I, uh..." She rubbed the back of her neck nervously.  _You've sunk my battleship, Commander._ She stared at the arrangement the two men had finished their match in. "I'm afraid your version looks...complicated." Her cheeks were burning and she was sure the blush was quickly spreading down her neck. "I'm not sure what else to say." Cherry immediately pulled away from Cullen to sit at her feet, looking up at her with a worried expression in her eyes. Regan could feel her heart racing, keeping time to the awkward silence she was unbearably stretching.

"Why does...she do that?" Cullen asked suddenly.

"What?"

"Your dog. Cherry. She's not a warhound, but she sticks to you like a mabari sticks to a Fereldan."

"Oh, well..." She took a seat in Dorian's vacated chair. "When I got out of the Army, things kind of steadily fell. My sisters were off on their own, my parents separated, our family dog was put down..." She busied her hands by scratching Cherry's ears, smiling as her tongue hung out of her mouth as she panted. "Cherry was trained to sense my emotions, specifically the bad ones. She wakes me up from my nightmares. She keeps me grounded when I trail off like I did before. She's been my rock for four years now, always there when I need her."

Cullen considered her words. "Lucy's woken me up before," he mentioned. "I assume the Inquisitor has informed the rest of the inner circle that I no longer take lyrium?" She nodded. "The withdraws cause nightmares. Some of them are..." He trailed off and shook his head slightly.

"They are," she agreed softly. "Dogs know things people never could. It makes them perfect for looking after people like you and me. Isn't that right, Cherry Berry?" Cherry wagged her tail and licked Regan's nose. "Thanks, girl. But you're an absolute bed hog." She laughed. "I spoil you far too much." Cherry licked her again. "Where did you get Lucy?"

"The Inquisitor. Back when the Inquisition was still in Haven. She was just a pup back then. Still is one, if I'm being honest. Cherry here keeps her in line." Cherry wagged her tail at the sound of her name, craning her head to look at him for a moment. "You have a tattoo," he noted, gesturing to her exposed collarbone where the edge of her colored skin peeked out.

"Four, actually." She ran through her explanations like she had for Bull in the Hinterlands. "I kind of regret not getting more."

"Commander!" A messenger rushed up. "The Inquisitor has returned and requests your presence in the war room."

"Thank you," he replied. The messenger saluted and left. "It seems our match will have to wait."

 _It seems like I have some studying to do about Theodosian chess._ "It seems it will. Good day, Commander."

Desperate to shake off her embarrassing conversation with Commander Cullen, Regan took a quick bath and made her way to the library to find Dorian with a bottle of wine. He was reading one of Varric's serials, one that apparently had been loaned to him by Cassandra. After mentioning his growing distaste for it, and her growing laughter, he handed the book off to her while he selected a more "intellectual" tome. She took the adjoining cushy chair next to Dorian's and kicked her legs up across his lap, winking when he stuck his tongue out at her, but he simply rested his arms on her shins and began reading.

"What the hell am I reading?" Regan blurted out ten minutes later, a smile stretching her lips and a blush heating her cheeks. Dorian chuckled.

"Apparently, our local Seeker is a fan of Varric's, ah...smut serial?"

Regan burst out laughing, dropping the book to the floor, cursing quietly. "Is it bad that I used to read these kind of stories all the time?"

"Yes," he answered without hesitation.

They read in relative silence, the quiet only disturbed by the occasional pair of boots walking near or a stray caw from one of Leliana's ravens up in the rookery. Regan found herself wishing she had a pair of earbuds and her phone to lose herself in some bangers alongside Varric's smutty smutty "literature." The thought made her smile. She could recall intense conversations with one of her closest friends from high school about favorite and notable fanfictions they had discovered online. Conversations that usually involved Drunk Regan. Most people simply laughed too much, slurred too much, or drank too much when they were drunk. Not Drunk Regan. Instead of giving her phone to friends for safe keeping, she was drawn to it like fireflies to Owl City's bedroom. Drunk Regan loved to text people, post embarrassing videos to Snapchat, and blurt out way too many thoughts that came from the bottom of her heart. Like admitting to a living room full of tipsy friends that she had had a sexy dream about one of them.

True story, brought to you by Jim Beam.

Drunk Regan always showed her cards. She didn't care. Drunk Regan loved to blurt out advice, warranted or no. On Fiona's twenty-first birthday, she could recall clinging to her while attempting to give good advice about her then-boyfriend. And then ending up on the floor of Fiona's room twenty minutes later complaining about her less-than-satisfactory sex life. And  _then_ hiking out to the fenced-in backyard to wait for their friend Sadie and top off the night with a few passes of a weed pipe. Drunk Regan discovered that High Regan was  _far_ better at Mario Kart than she was. And that Flavor Blasted Goldfish taste way better during a bought of the munchies.

True story, brought to you by Jack Daniels and the Devil's Lettuce.

Drunk Regan hadn't been seen in over a year. Sober Regan was too busy with her work and being generally busy in her own life. The twins and herself were thinking about planning a trip to Disney World after Christmas. She could see it as if the whole ordeal had happened yesterday. Taking the ferry to Magic Kingdom, seeing Cinderella's castle inching closer and closer. Being swept up in the chaos of the main street, wide smiles and dark sunglasses everywhere. Throwing her arms up on Space Mountain and almost dying with laughter. Humming the  _Pirates of the_ _Caribbean_  theme obnoxiously loud with Hallie as they watched the startlingly real animatronics. Finding herself sobbing with joy during the Happily Ever After show and cheering with the crowd when Tinkerbell shot out of the tower. Thanks to her missing leg, Regan was allowed to the front of the line with little trouble. Disney was magic. A different kind compared to Thedas' magic. A kind that didn't need to be seen to be felt.

"Galloway?"

Regan and Dorian looked up from their books to find a windblown messenger standing on the edge of their little nook. "Yes?"

"The Inquisitor wishes to see you in the war room. Immediately."

Army Regan shoved her way to the wheel, getting to her feet abruptly, tossing Varric's book into Dorian's lap, and taking off in the direction of her destination. Back in basic, "immediately" meant "faster than the Devil himself" to her drill sergeant. If you weren't dying by the time you got to where you need to be, you were running the course again. She raced up the steps and across Josephine's office, finding the Ambassador's desk vacant. She took a second to straighten her clothes and armor before opening the door. Not a lot got to Regan, but seeing Commander Cullen, Spymaster Leliana, Lady Ambassador Josephine Montilyet, and Inquisitor Lyanna Lavellan standing around the war table almost made her heart stop for how intimidating the snapshot looked in her mind. 

"You wished to see me, Inquisitor," she said evenly, standing with her hands tightly clasped behind her back.

"Yes, I did." The Inquisitor gathered up several sheets of paper and handed them to her. "Commander Cullen believes you might know what these are."

Regan shuffled through the papers, frowning. One had lines and lines of letters written down, spelling nothing. The other was a map of the western half of Ferelden with a grid drawn on it, numbers on the x and y axes starting at one and increasing from there. Confused, she asked, "Why would I know anything about these?"

"Look at the bottom of the map." She did. Pressed into the parchment, as if someone had written the letters without ink, were the words, "Dark Wings, Dark Words. Regan felt herself pale, and the same words etched into the skin of her right forearm seemed to chill significantly. She murmured the phrase to herself, smirking, but still terribly confused. "Mind enlightening us, Regan?"

"It's a cipher," she said. "One, I'm thinking, that can only be decoded by me." She looked at the letters. "'Dark Wings, Dark Words,'" she said louder for them to hear. "It's a tattoo on my arm. It's a phrase that means..." She glanced around at the curious faces watching her. "It means something to me," she finished curtly. "Have any of you heard it before?" They shook their heads. "Good. Well, not technically good, but good in the sense that this got to who it was going to. Me." She looked up at the Inquisitor. "Who gave this to you?"

"Nobody knows," she explained, folding her arms over her chest. "It was found in the camp down in the valley with the message that it be delivered up here immediately."

"And there was nothing else with it?" Lavellan shook her head. "Well...shit..." She scowled at the papers as if she could frighten them into revealing their secrets. "Give me some time. I'll figure it out." Just before she turned to leave, she added, "Inquisitor...whoever made this knows who I am." Her heart was thundering in her chest. "I'm not sure what to think about that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big shoutout to klickitats' fic "all creatures great and small" for giving me the idea of the Inquisitor finding a mabari and giving it to Cullen while they're still in Haven. Love her work! <3


	5. flavors dance on the tongue, did you know?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regan struggles to work out the cipher from an unknown source before she leaves with the Inquisitor to look for Hawke's Warden friend as well as promises the Inquisitor a personal favor.

Regan loved Hawke.

And she also pitied him.

But she didn't know how to think about how alike they were.

They were just two kinds of soldiers who got more shit than they signed up for. If it didn't make her heart pang sadly, it would've been laughable.

They had the same dark hair to go along with their overall dark demeanor. She saw that his warm brown eyes used to be brighter, but a familiar shadow fell over them whenever he wasn't talking or didn't think anyone was watching him. He was handsome enough, and pre-Army Regan would have definitely at least  _tried_ to hit on him. He was charming, charismatic, and just lovely to listen to. His voice was like mulled wine but with a shot of tequila. He was happy to just continuously talk while Regan continuously scowled at the cipher laid out in front of her at Varric's table in the great hall. Normally, she liked to work in relative quiet, but Hawke's voice was helping keep her temper in check so she wouldn't just chuck the cipher in the fireplace and wait for it to be lit, even adding a few suggestions when she sat back in frustration.

"I know this!" she hissed, running her hands down her face. "Why do I know this?"

Hawke chuckled and sipped on his ale he had gotten from the Herald's Rest. "You'll get it," he said softly.

"You're so damn charming, asshole," she breathed, sitting forward and pulling the map close. "I don't get it."

"Part of the Hawke charm. But I'm pretty sure I stole Carver's share. How'd you lose the leg?"

Strangely, she liked his blunt way of talking. Hawke was a man who got to his point. "Explosion. Never saw it. All I saw was a bright flash and next thing I knew I was waking up in a hospital bed. Why the fuck is there a grid on this?" She stared at the map of western Ferelden, looking for something out of place, but Hawke had already confirmed that everything was in fine. Not a village or river out of place or even misnamed. She sighed and shook her head. "I was twenty," she continued. "It's nice to have a leg to spare." Hawke burst out laughing.

Varric wandered in through the massive doors, the hard lines of his face softening when he spotted Hawke and Regan. "You look like you just challenged the Arishok to single combat like my dumb ass," Hawke joked. 

"Damn near," he grumbled, joining them by taking a seat.

"Let me guess," Regan added. "Cassandra?"

"The Seeker?" Hawke laughed again. "Maker, I'm surprised you came out alive. I've been avoiding her for a reason. She could have  _glowered_ Meredith into standing down."

"You're not far off." 

"How's the treasure map going, Blackberry?"

Regan snorted. "'Blackberry?' Is that my nickname?"

Varric shrugged, smirking. "You threatened to punch Dorian, and I quote, 'in the dick,' if he ate even  _one_ of the blackberries you bought on our trip to Val Royeaux."

She smacked Hawke's arm as he kept laughing into his ale. "Alright, that's fair. But nobody touches my berries. They're the light of my life.  _Anyway_ _..."_ She gestured to the papers. "I've tried unscrambling the letters, I've tried searching the map for clues, I've tried..." She sat back again and hung her head. "I was never very good at these kind of things. I couldn't even figure out a majority of my history teacher's ciphers he put as extra credit in his exams..."

Hawke and Varric gave her words of encouragement and trailed off into their own conversation, leaving her to think. Inquisitor Lavellan even popped by to have a brief chat with Varric about letting Cassandra cool down until it was safe to go within a hundred feet of her. And that went for all of them, she insisted. Having trained with Cassandra on a number of occasions, Regan mentally noted it as a good idea. She had made the one time mistake of taunting Cass to get her to swing harder. The next thing she knew she was flat on her back and seeing stars. She couldn't see straight for a day and had a consistent ringing sound in her ears for two. She counted her blessings that Cass hadn't broken her nose. She preferred sparing with Blackwall, now.

_What do these fucking letters mean?_

0BY 0EGE was one of the many odd combinations she had to figure out. "Dark Wings, Dark Words." The message was meant for her. Someone in Thedas not only knew where she was, but knew  _who_ she was. Someone she knew from her world was also in Thedas and had somehow found her. It was hard to find someone in Thedas. Just forget it if they don't want to be found. Hawke was a good example. An unmistakable face, infamous set of armor, and an apostate, he should have stuck out like a sore thumb. But not only Cassandra and the Seekers of Truth failed to find him, but even  _Leliana_ failed to find even a trace of him. Her frustration spilling over and her temper nearing its breaking point, Regan was ready to ask him for advice.

"Maker's blood, it was impossible to navigate that basement."

Hawke snickered. "Good thing Tallis can pick any lock from here to Seheron."

"Navigate," Regan echoed, her heart rate picking up. The two looked at her with strange looks. She stood up, straightening the papers in line. "Land navigation," she breathed, her mind firing all cylinders as Army Regan kicked her way into the front seat yet again. "Varric, I fucking love you." She grabbed a quill and began scribbling down the numbers one through twenty-six. 

"Uh, Blackberry? Mind telling us why you've developed such sudden affections for the Inquisition's number one dwarf?"

"Please," she scoffed, "the Inquisition's number one dwarf is Scout Harding and you know it." She smacked her hand on the table and grinned wickedly. "Land navigation. One of the first things you lean in the Army. How to navigate without..."  _Shut up, Regan, shut your mouth._ "If you get separated from your unit," she supplied instead.  _Jesus, this is gonna be a fucking wreck if...when everyone finds out..._ "You need a grid on a map. Now, usually you have two four-digit numbers. It'll get you within a hundred feet of where you need to be. But-" She pointed to the paper with the letters on it. "-whoever sent this went the distance. They encrypted the numbers in the letters of the alphabet, assuming A is one and B is two and so on. These aren't O's, they're zeroes so they fit in with the rules of navigation." She let out a heavy exhale. "Fuck me, I always hated it. Too many numbers to keep track of."

"Told you you'd figure it out," Hawke said, smirking as he nudged her arm with his elbow.

"Ass," she snickered. "Help me out, boys, this is gonna take a hot minute."

They set to work decoding the letters into numbers using the method Regan had explained. Soon, the random jumble of letters turned into countless, seemingly random pairs of four-digit numbers. Regan had a flashback to the hot summer days of basic training where their drill sergeant would throw them in the middle of the wilderness and have them navigate to certain points and then find their way back to the barracks. Stuck in their full gear and sweating through every layer, she remembered almost passing out from dehydration, kept conscious by the mere thought of having to do it again as punishment if she passed out. 

In basic, you were never right. Never. Your drill sergeant made sure of that.

Regan took the liberty of plotting the points. Ferelden was now dotted with blots of ink that looked...familiar.

"You've got to be fucking with me," she breathed, hurrying to scratch lines into the parchment, connecting the dots. They were geometric letters, all straight lines and right angles. GALLOWAY. Her last name. "Okay...that's my name," she said. "But...what the fuck is this supposed to tell me?" She looked to her favorite Kirkwallers for an answer. Varric ran his fingers along the stubble of his chin and squinted at the map. Hawke frowned suddenly and stood up.

"There's one more dot," he said simply.

"What?"

He pointed. "Right there."

The dot was inked right over the village of Honnleath.

\---

_March 30th, 2012_

_Regan's hands were shaking._

_That wasn't anything new, if she was being honest. Her hands shook on a regular basis. Her social anxiety and overall timidness had her practically shivering all day. Not to mention whenever she had one of her bad days. She had to take melatonin at night so she relaxed enough to fall asleep. Every day was a battle._

_Her stomach rumbled loudly._

_"I know, I know," she grumbled. "Can't you wait just five more minutes for the pizza guy to arrive?" As if answering, it rumbled again. "Guess not."_

_The dining halls were closed for the whole day. Pop-Tarts weren't going to get her through the night, so she had caved and ordered pizza over the phone. Normally, she'd actually get in her car and drive to pick it up and save the two dollar delivery fee, but it had already been a long day of struggling. First, she had a kink in her neck. Then, the cold front had finally hit her part of Wisconsin. Also, the front desk was closed, so she'd have to wait until the next day to pick up her packages, all the while praying they didn't sent the one back for going over the pickup date._

_It was one of those days where the little things decided to dogpile on her._

_She thanked her instincts for the hundredth time that she had gone big instead of going home and bought out a single room in her dorm tower. She'd heard plenty of complaints and roommate horror stories to wash away any second thoughts or doubts. Besides, she didn't need a roommate who could potentially find it funny to steal and/or hide her prosthetic leg. She wouldn't want to explain to her RA why she'd punched them in the face. Better to avoid that jazz._

_Grabbing her keys, she started out the door, locking it behind her, and made her way to the elevator to ride it down eight floors. The dorms were effectively silent. Everyone was enjoying their last full day of spring break. Regan had only gone home for a few days, using the excuse of a scholarship meeting so that she could leave without getting shit from her mother. It shouldn't have worked, considering the Army was giving her a full ride, but her mother apparently didn't remember that._

Whatever, _Regan sighed inwardly. She wasn't in the mood to grumble about her mother at the moment._

_Clifford, her mother's dog, was the most upset to see her go. He was a hundred-pound red doberman who loved orange peppers and sleeping flat on his back on the couch. She always felt a pang of sadness whenever she looked at his cropped ears, courtesy of his previous owners, but she also couldn't help but giggle when the tips nearly touched when they cocked to his full height. Lots of people were wary of dobermans, but Clifford was the sweetest dog she'd ever had the pleasure sharing a home with._

_He didn't like to bark unless a stranger was getting too close to a family member. He was a literal master of puppy eyes. He greeted almost everyone with a warm lick on their hands. His cropped tail was almost too short to wag, so he opted to wiggle his whole body whenever he got exited. He'd whined constantly while she packed, all but laid right on top of her duffel bag to keep her from leaving. She was reluctant to leave him as well. His ever-present positive attitude rubbed off on her and kept her from moping around all day._

_Like she was doing at the current moment. Not even the sausage and bacon pizza in her hands could completely cheer her up. But at least it would stop her hands and knees from shaking._

Maybe I should get my own dog to keep me company, _she thought._

\---

Running a hand through her hair as she ascended the stairs to the Inquisitor's quarters, Regan made a mental note to ask Krem to help her cut her hair. He had the closest haircut to hers and had mentioned a few times about how it had taken him a month or two to cut his own hair without messing it up. Plus, she liked Krem. He reminded her of Hallie. They had similar attitudes and mannerisms. She could see them getting along well. 

She knocked on the door three times, her social anxiety hoping there'd be no answer, but she only let out a little puff of air when she heard, "Come in!" Closing the door behind her, she climbed the final set of stairs. Lavellan's quarters took her breath away like the had the first time. Every surface was coated in the warm flow of firelight or candlelight. It definitely looked more homely than before, like Lavellan had lived there longer the few short months the Inquisition had actually been at Skyhold.

"Inquisitor," she said, giving a respectful nod of her head. "I've decoded the message. It spelled out my name. My last name. And..."

Lyanna Lavellan glanced up from her spot at her desk. The surface was littered with papers of all kinds. Reports, requisitions, and probably letters from nobles across Orlais and Ferelden. Regan cringed inwardly. She would loathe to be in her position, wearing the mask of the Inquisitor more often than not. "And?" she encouraged, tucking a lock of blonde hair behind her pointed ear.

"I, uh..." She approached Lavellan and held out the marked map. "I think someone wants me to go to Honnleath."

"Honnleath?" she echoed, taking the map and looking at the dots Regan, Hawke, and Varric had plotted and connected. "What's in Honnleath?"

"I'm not sure," she admitted. "That was all that was in the cipher." She paused, catching herself wringing her hands nervously. She'd never reacted to superior officers in such a way before, but somehow the details of "elvhen" and "mage" and even the title of "Inquisitor" set her on a bit of an edge. "With your permission, I'd like to find some answers. As in travel to Honnleath."

Lyanna kept studying the map. "I had hoped to take you with me to Crestwood," she said almost absentmindedly.

"I know. But whoever made this knows who I am, knows where I'm from. I'd make an attractive bet that they're from my world. I  _need_ to know who they are. Maybe they can help."

"How?"

"I...don't know." 

Lyanna sighed  heavily, rubbing her eyes. She looked tired. More tired than her bright, springy self should ever be. Regan could tell she'd rather be anywhere than stuck at her desk, looking at countless words in a foreign tongue. She fought back a snort when the thought of her rather going toe to toe with a High Dragon crossed her mind. They had that kind of spontaneous nature in common.

She flinched slightly when Lyanna inhaled sharply. "I have an idea," she blurted out suddenly. "I take a team to Crestwood, you take one to Honnleath. If we get lucky, we might even get home at the same time. My only request is that you take Solas with you."

Regan's thoughts were skipping like a CD player on a bumpy car ride. As she struggled to make one and one equal two, she felt like Sam Niell's character in  _Jurassic Park_ where he pulls out two of the same seat belt ends and sort of clacks them together pathetically. "I...um..." She cocked her head to the side. "Can I...ask why?" The skipping in her brain continued when she spotted a light blush appear across Lyanna's cheeks. "You know what? I can just take your request with a spoonful of sugar and just-"

"No!" Lyanna protested. "I mean..." She shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Creators, what in the world is wrong with me?" she breathed.

 _Oh!_ _Oh..._ Regan ran a hand through her hair again and pulled up a spare chair, sitting on it backwards so she could rest her arms on the backrest. "Boyfriend troubles?" she tried tentatively.

She snickered as an answer. "Of a sort. I'm not sure what's irking me, but..." She frowned at the corner of her desk.

"So you want me to...what? Investigate. Hold him down and demand answers in the name of our Lord and Inquisitor Lyanna Lavellan?" Regan smirked in triumph when that managed to get a chuckle out of her boss. "It's okay, Lyanna. It's just me. This is Girl Code 101. 'Never leave a fellow woman behind.'"

"I can't believe a hold a title like 'Inquisitor' and the thing I'm most worried about is a man I like," she sighed. 

"It's because you're a person. You're not a machine. You're not a warhorse. You are Lyanna Lavellan. You were born with thoughts and feelings and emotions and your Creators intended that you  _use_ them. Your compassion and mercy alongside your strength and determination has made this Inquisition into what it is today, and what it'll be tomorrow, a week from now, hell, maybe even a fucking decade from now." Regan shrugged. "Who knows? Nobody knows what tomorrow's gonna be. That's why people look forward to it. It could literally be everything."

Lyanna stared at her, blinking with an otherwise blank face. "Has anyone ever told you that you're fantastic?" she asked.

"Ha!  _Please!_ My own sister once called me a 'one-legged, blue-eyed bitch who ate my clementines.'" She shrugged when Lyanna burst out laughing. "We show our affection for each other in our insults."

"I'm serious, though, Lyanna," she continued. "We don't get ourselves into relationships for the sole benefit of who we're with. We do it for us. We do it because it's what  _we_ want. And you should always be comfortable, no matter what." She stood up and put the chair back to the side where it was before. "You've got a deal, Inquisitor. Who else do you want me to take for a walk?"

"Best keep Cass and Varric far,  _far_ away from each other for now. Hawke's with me, so Varric should come too. Might put them in a good mood. I guess I'll take Blackwall too. Maybe he knows Hawke's Warden source."

"Oof, great, I get the angry Seeker." They shared a knowing chuckle. "Cole might be able to find something we can't see."

"Good idea. You're all good to go."

"Thank you. I'll leave you to it, then." As she left the Inquisitor's quarters, she elected to wait until the morning to find her future companions. Most of Skyhold's inhabitants had already turned in for the night, judging by the lack of trademark clamor that could usually be heard from at least  _one_ part of the castle. As her jaw was stretched in a yawn, she decided to do the same. 

Cherry was already buried beneath a mountain of blankets when Regan finally got back. Her sweet girl didn't even look up when she shed her armor and clothes, set them aside, and let out a satisfied sound of relief when she pulled off her breast band. After the bra she had accidentally taken with her to Thedas had been torn and stained with blood, sweat, and cold mud, she'd caved and gotten a classic Theodosian breastband. It took longer to put on, it was twice as uncomfortable as a wire-cupped bra, and it had none of the fun colors of patterns that put the love and life into wearing bras. On the plus side, her dull colored breastband matched her similarly dull colored smalls. 

"Scoot, Cherry-Berry," she mumbled, sitting down on the edge of the bed to pull her prosthetic off. After shoving it unceremoniously toward the stone wall, she slipped beneath the covers. Cherry let out a heavy sigh and moved to the foot of the bed, curling into a tight ball and tucking her nose under her tail. "Remember that night when Dad caught us in my kitchen while we were eating popcorn at midnight? Yeah...that was a good night." She yawned again. "And speaking of good nights..."

\---

_January 3rd, 2016_

_One of the many, many embarrassing things Regan would openly admit to literally anyone was the fact that she preferred eating stale popcorn over fresh popcorn. The same could be said for Oreos. When Oreos go stale, the cookie part gets soft and everybody loves soft cookies over hard ones. They should, at least._

_"What do you think, Cherry-Berry?" she asked her red retriever. "Stale or fresh?" Cherry simply licked her nose and glanced at the popcorn sitting in a Blue Bunny ice cream bucket. "Stale it is." Regan tossed a few pieces of popcorn her way, giggling as Cherry caught one, but the other two bounced off her nose._

_The door at the end of the hall opened and the hall light was flicked on, illuminating James Galloway, Regan's father. He was a tall, geek of a father who looked ten years younger than his age of fifty-two. The only thing that gave him away was his neatly styled salt-and-pepper hair and even saltier short beard. Dressed in his red plaid pajama bottoms and plain white t-shirt, he padded down the hall and into the kitchen, chuckling quietly._

_"How many times have I caught you or the twins in the kitchen pilfering the pantry late at night?" he asked, rubbing his eyes._

_Regan looked at the digital clock on the microwave. "Technically, it's early in the morning, Dad," she joked, "and we got away with it more times than you caught us."_

_Her father grabbed a handful of popcorn and shoved it in his mouth. "Fair enough." He pulled up a chair and sat down, crossing his legs. "Any reason for this sudden case of the munchies? Though, if you're actually high, don't tell me, otherwise I'd be obligated to call your therapist."_

_"Honestly, Dad, I wish I was high," she admitted. "No, I just drank a Red Bull about two hours ago and I couldn't stop singing the Game of Thrones opening theme." She tossed some more popcorn to Cherry. "Besides, you'd know I'd share if I actually had weed. Sharing is caring."_

_"Mmm." He scratched his cheek. "Uh...anything you wanna talk about?"_

_Regan was all too ready to make a joke about her dad playing therapist for the night, but she did have something on her mind. A question that should have been asked a decade ago. Sensing her change in mood, Cherry shifted closer to her and set her head on Regan's thigh, grounding her like she was trained to to._

_"Why doesn't it bother you I'm not your biological daughter?"_

_The silence that followed her question made her want to maybe get in her car and drive off the nearest cliff. Still, she'd_ needed _to ask. She'd spent too long wondering why James Galloway practically shed blood, sweat, and tears caring for a child fathered by another man._

_James Galloway sighed heavily, his shoulders sagging. "I'm surprised you never asked this before," he murmured. He took a deep breath and let it out all at once. "I've never met your bio dad, you know? Had to learn everything about the man when we went to court so I could claim full legal responsibility for you. I didn't want him popping up out of the blue and taking you away from me."_

_"But why?" Regan asked. "Mom cheated on you, Dad. You're telling me your first instinct wasn't to dump her and just forget the whole thing ever happened?" To her surprise, her dad burst out laughing._

_"Of course it was!" he exclaimed. "We weren't married yet, so it would've been easy. But..." He shook his head. Regan clicked her tongue at Cherry. She grunted and moved to sit by her dad. "Good girl. I, um...Call me old fashioned, but you were just a child. You were innocent. I didn't have it in me to just leave."_

_"'Even this foul creature may yet prove one day to be of use to me,'" Regan sang in a teasing tone. "Pulling a Judge Frollo? I'm afraid we're a long way from Notre Dame."_

_Her dad gave her that classic dad look. "Charming," he commented. He sighed again and stood up. He smoothed Regan's hair back and kissed her forehead. "You're my daughter, Regan Galloway. Nothing on this earth will change that. I promise." He yawned. "I'm going back to bed. Thanks for the popcorn. Don't stay up too late."_

_"Love you, Dad," Regan smiled up at him, "but you know I will. As you say, I'm your daughter."_

_"Truer words have never been spoken."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to that one Leadership class I took freshman year that taught me about land navigation that led to me putting this in here as a little ode to Regan's past :)  
> \---  
> Also shoutout to Dominos for being there when the dining halls weren't! <3  
> \---  
> Also I got a huge craving for popcorn after writing that last bit.


	6. fresh and rosy red and the sun is mounting high

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regan and the B Team trek to Honnleath to find the source of the cipher.

The sun was shining brightly in the sky, reflecting even brighter off of the deep blue water of Moon Lake. The rays sank right through the surface of the water and stretched down as far as it could reach into the depths. Moon Lake wasn't particularly deep, but it was particularly shaped. Just a circle, really. Half of the shoreline was private properties, and the other half belonged to United Church Camps, Inc., easily spotted by its yellow beach and massive red pier. Twenty-two Moon Beach Camp cabins, also red, trailed along the edge of the lake, almost completely hidden by the tall sentinel pines.

"Eagle, Owl, Heron..." Regan breathed, smirking as she picked out each and every red cabin, recalling fond memories from a select few of them. She'd fallen off the top bunk during a thunderstorm in Hemlock. She trailed sand all up in her bed in Whippoorwill. Eagle cabin had a window in the bathroom...for some reason... "Muskie, Loon, eagles at Mallard."

So many memories in such little time. All in all, only nine weeks over the course of just over a decade. Plenty of friends and family to spend time with playing volleyball, rehearsing some goofy act for the talent show, or making a mess tie-dyeing t-shirts in the art room. But the best times were spent on the lake, by herself. All she needed was her favorite blue kayak, a double-ended yellow paddle, a red safety best, and a pair of sunglasses. Maybe even her absolutely dorky fishing hat if she was feeling frisky...or trying to keep her ears from getting sunburnt.

On the lake, she could forget every single rule of life. The four hours of daily free time were hers. All hers.

"Having fun out here?" Hallie asked, paddling up in her own green kayak. Her smile was brighter than the reflection of sunlight on the water. "You're always kayaking here. Always. Why?"

Regan took a deep breath of northwoods air, resting her paddles in her lap. She could feel her exposed legs beginning to burn a little bit in the direct, unhindered sun. She never did learn to put on enough sunscreen. "Probably for the same reason we both keep going to the Christmas Eve service," she said. "But...good luck trying to put that into words." She looked around. "Where's Holland?"

"Probably hitting on that lifeguard." She put a hand over her vest and dramatically said, "Enrique!"

"Enrique!" Regan echoed, laughing. Being as small as the lake was, the lifeguards could probably hear them laughing. "Maker, I'd forgotten about him! Remember how our counselor, Van, had a crush on him?"

"How could I forget! We  _all_ had a crush on him!" They kept laughing. "It's a nice place, though," she continued. "To come to, I mean. Remember those years you kept going to Skateland to talk to someone?"

Regan sighed with nostalgia. "'Just a concrete box with a roller rink,'" she quoted, "'full of black lights and sweaty middle schoolers.'"

"Gross."

"Hey, we were those sweaty middle schoolers at one point in our lives, remember? Endless Friday nights just going around and around on the rink, going all out in the races, tumbling over each other in the two person races?"

"With two continuously spinning disco balls and at least three broken orb lights." Hallie leaned over the side of her kayak and splashed water at Regan. "How could I forget? I remember thinking constantly that Holland and I had the best big sister for taking us there all the time. You always looked after us."

Their kayaks were bumping together quietly. A dragonfly landed on the front of Regan's, hitching a slow moving ride. An eagle screeched from it's nest high above Mallard cabin. She could just barely see the regal white feathers of its head, also spotting the fluffy bodies of the two young ones. The eagles returned every year without fail. A distant cheer erupted from the volleyball court as one team scored a point.

"Campers versus counselors," Hallie explained. "We should go play. You have time."

"Hard to play beach volleyball with only one decent foot."

Hallie smirked. "Please, girl. You always have two good feet here. I've yet to see you come here with your prosthetic. Ah, see!" Regan was wiggling her toes, all ten of them. "Motherfucker, let's at least get in on the Round Robin tournament in Heritage Hall later after dinner."

"You know I can't stay," she replied quietly. "I'm suddenly the leader of the Inquisitor's B team. This mystery in Honnleath won't solve itself."

"And you doubted you'd figure it out, you bitchin' intellectual. Holland might've taken you for the family jarhead, but it wasn't hard to figure out your school passwords and compare our grades. She'd've killed me If I ever told her your ACT scores. I'm convinced you were reading test answers in that Walt Whitman book instead of his poems."

"Oh yeah?" Regan straightened up and made a deal of clearing her throat.  _"'Joy, shipmate, Joy!; Pleas'd to my soul at death I cry; Our life is closed, our life begins; The long, long anchorage we leave; The ship is clear at last, she leaps!; She swiftly courses from the shore; Joy, shipmate, joy.'"_ She snapped her fingers in triumph. "Fuck you."

"Alright, Mr. Keating," Hallie sighed. "Jesus Christ, you're impossible. But we're avoiding the elephant in the canoe out here. How are you doing?"

"I'm freaking the fuck out every five fucking minutes!" Hallie roared with laughter, almost losing her balance in the kayak. "I'm serious! You try being thrown into a world with three extra humanoid species and try not to freak out! The only normalcy I've found is Rylen's goddamn Scottish accent, but he's apparently from Starkhaven!" Hallie pressed a hand to her chest and started coughing from too much laughing. "Well...other than that...I'm doing alright. Surviving, at least. I haven't died yet. Unless I am dead right now instead of dreaming. That'd be a bummer."

"I'm sure you're fine," Hallie sighed shrilly. "I remember you took a selfie here right on the lake. Hottest fucking day of the week. Dad kept it on his fridge for, like, months."

"Yeah, but then he framed it. Kept it right on the mantle next to your senior picture and Holland's picture of her and Steve from their honeymoon in Croatia. I remember asking him once if he'd ever hoped to have a son he could play catch with or some shit. All he did was laugh and say he didn't learn how to French braid hair for nothing." The bell signaling lunch rang. The sound easily carried across the little lake.

"Remember our last Friday night here?" Hallie asked. "We convinced Van and Jed to let our cabins go up to the baseball diamond and stargaze?"

"It was cool enough for the mosquitoes to fuck off, yeah. Or maybe it was Kristen's bug spray with like ninety percent deet. My blanket smelled like gasoline and deet for a month."

"But that night was beautiful. Ryan claimed he'd never seen a shooting star and missed the first three we saw! And we were the only ones who knew that that smokey bar across the sky was the Milky Way." When Regan looked at her sister again, she looked sad. Hallie was the very definition of the word "bright." Bright green eyes, bright white smile, a melodic voice and accompanying laugh that could light the fucking heavens. "You always loved it here more than Holland or I," she murmured.

"Yeah...I felt safe here. More like myself. I didn't have to lie here. I could just...exist."

"I could never shake the feeling like I didn't belong here, at the end of it all. It never bothered you, but Mom was always wary of sending us here when she knew we had...doubts."

"Mom's just-"

"I know, I know, Regan. Believe me, I know. Mom was never perfect. Neither was Dad. Kudos to them for trying to make it work for our sake, but they were just laying the track right in front of the train. Sooner or later you gotta speed up to get to your destination. But back to camp...I remember every single little thing about that night at Vesper's Point. I remember the sun setting over the treeline across the lake. I could remember spotting the resident loon doing some late night fishing. I remember how Karley's feet couldn't reach the ground because the benches were-"

"Put right on the hill, yeah. The cross was always a little lopsided. And the Point was always fucking wrecked with mosquitoes. Do you remember the second year we came here? We stayed in Eagle cabin? And Mom and Dad took the three of us out here and we tried to-"

"Walk across that sand bar, yeah!" They laughed. "The water was too high for Holland and I. You carried me on your back while Holland was on Dad's shoulders. It's like you say: so many memories in such little time. I think that's why we loved this place so much. The peach fuzz on the back of Regan's neck stood up and she rubbed at the short hairs, frowning. "I think you need to go," Hallie said quietly. "Long day ahead of you on a horse you can't ride."

"I can ride a horse! Natalie taught me!"

Her red-haired sister chortled. "Yeah! When you had two good legs!"

"Maker, I fucking hate you."

Hallie pointed at her. "You're starting to curse like a true Theodosian." She pinched Regan's arm, making her flinch away. "Good luck. Come see me somewhere else next time, okay? Change up the scenery of the dreamscape every once in a while."

\---

"No, just fucking...Forward! Moose, face forward! Why are you going backwards when you--Cassandra! What am I doing wrong?" Her warrior companion was a bit too busy trying not to laugh at her to give advice on how to make her horse go forward instead of in every direction but. Because her right foot couldn't deliver as strong a kick as her left, she'd fixed blunt spurs to her boot heels. Moose, her Fereldan Forder, couldn't care any less about them. "Moose! Fucking hell, come on!"

"Just kick him, Regan," Cassandra advised. "He won't care."

"I am! Moose!" She gave a harsh enough jab with her heels to get Moose to trot forward after Cassandra's courser. "My sister was probably right when she said I can't ride a horse for shit. And don't you dare say you're sorry 'cause I know you're not!"

As much as Moose was continuing his third day of probably trying to annoy her into not riding him, Regan's heart was singing, overjoyed to be out on a little field trip. She was glad to be out of the sparring ring. She could only take getting tossed around in the dirt for so long. Cherry was glad to be out too. She didn't expect a whole lot of trouble, so she figured it would be good for her retriever to go along with them, have a good time outside of stone walls. She was bounding in and out of the brush, always coming back with a new twig or leaf in her mouth and a stick in her mouth.

Still, at the moment, Ferelden and Orlais were like two rams butting horns, and she was worried for her furry companion's safety. Harritt had helped her out, yet again, and made a light, leather and scale vest to protect Cherry if she, God forbid, got hit. Regan was just hoping that Cherry would listen to her and stay close.

"Honnleath is just a few more miles up the road," Cass mentioned.

"Hear that, Moose?" she chuckled quietly. "Hold on for a few more miles and then you can throw me or whatever."

Honnleath was, in simple terms, small. But Regan liked small. She loathed the cities back home. Too many people and noise where all she wanted was fresh air and plenty of room to roam. Honnleath was a double-handful of houses surrounded by a large stretch of farmlands. The three of them dismounted and decided to walk the rest of the way. The little village had apparently been raided by darkspawn during the Blight and then saved by the Hero of Ferelden. Warden-Commander Callie Mahariel hadn't been seen for the past two years. Nobody knew why she'd left.

But Warden Mahariel wasn't the reason they were in Honnleath.

"I still don't understand what we're looking for," Solas mentioned.

"I don't either," Regan admitted simply. She smirked and snapped her fingers. "Anachronisms. Something that shouldn't be here."

They tethered the horses and decided to split up. Solas and Cassandra decided to talk to a few residents and see if anyone had seen anything unusual. Cole had functionally disappeared. Regan just stuck her hands in her pockets and whistled for Cherry to follow. None of them really looked like they were from the Inquisition. They didn't have any flags or banners like the Inquisitor was so fond of. They were just... Regan stifled a laugh behind her hand. They were just a couple of weird strangers wandering around their little village asking questions and generally snooping around.

"Do you see anything, Cherry-Berry?" Regan asked. "C'mere, girl..." Cherry trotted up, tail wagging, excitedly sniffing Regan's arm she held out. "Anything around here smell like me?" Cherry just jumped away again, trying to sniff every little bush and blade of grass in Honnleath.

Every part of the village seemed in place. Every thatched and tiled roof and even the kids that ran around playing seemed completely normal. The folded papers with the decoded cipher were tucked away in her saddlebags with Moose. There wasn't much to go off of at all. Just her last name and an outlying dot. She had triple checked the plotted points, making sure everything was in place and nothing had been left out. Were they even supposed to be in Honnleath? What if they were supposed to wait for another cipher that would give them another location? What if they had to wait for another complete message.

Well, they were already in Honnleath. Might as well continue looking.

"It's like a song, but there's no music. Like a poem, but  _with_ music." Regan spun around and found Cole crouched next to Cherry, petting her carefully. "She always had it. Green like grass but it smelled of her. Always of her."

Regan frowned. "Cole...who are you hearing?"

"I help. Sometimes she cries, but I'm there to stop it. I help. It's my job. It's my purpose." Cole looked at her and smiled slightly. "Her feet are always warm."

Regan's heart shot to her throat. She got down to a knee on Cherry's other side. Her retriever was panting happily at the attention she was getting. "You're hearing her? Cherry?"

"She loves you," Cole said, his eyes hidden under his odd hat. "Lucy loves Cullen, but Cherry loves you more. Red but not red like blood. She's golden, but not like gold. Like sand on a beach." Regan took a deep breath and waited patiently. Cherry snuffled Cole's hand and gave it a curious look, tail thumping against the grass. "She remembers the book."

"What book?" she asked.

"The one you always carried. It was always there."

 _Think, think, Regan, you idiot!_ What did she know? A song without music, a poem  _with_ music.  _That makes no fucking sense._ Green like grass, but it smelled of  _her._ Like...her?  _Me?_ Regan closed her eyes as if it would help. Cole mentioned a book. A book presumably as green as grass and always smelled like her. She nearly choked as she tried to laugh. A book as green as grass and always smelled like her. "Where's the book, Cherry-Berry?" she asked quietly. "Where's Uncle Walt?" Cherry's ears perked up at her nickname, but she didn't make to go anywhere.

Cole scratched her ear. "You help," he said. "She wouldn't be here without you." Regan realized with a start that Cole wasn't talking to her.

Cherry stood up and shook her whole body, sneezing after that. Her tail was wagging as she trotted off, leading the two of them between two houses. A shortcut to the stables, it seemed. Their horses were lounging, eating the lush grass below them. The horses in the stables were being tended to by a stable boy, maybe twelve years old. He was brushing down a beautiful mare while it colt stood next to it. The colt had a little blot of white fur on its forehead, contrasting the rest of its dark colors. At the sight of something new, the colt plodded out and right up to them. Cherry dropped on her front legs and wagged her tail, suddenly taking off around the stables. The colt scampered after her. 

"You remember the book, too," Cole noted.

Regan nodded, scanning the area. "I do. Hell, I  _always_ had that damn book."

"It made you happy."

She ground her teeth together by habit. "Sometimes." She pointed. "It's up there." A rectangle shaped package wrapped in cloth was tied to one of the rafters above the horses. "Unless someone else hid a book up in the rafters in the same village we were led to."

"I...don't think so?"

She smirked at the boy. "I don't think so either. If I boost you up there, can you grab it? Please?" She got on a knee again, making sure her good leg was the one to get her back up when Cole clambered on her back. She grabbed his legs and stood up with a grunt. Cole put a hand on her head and reached up, grabbing the object with ease and sliding off her shoulders. He passed her the package and watched her unwrap it. Regan heaved out a sigh and felt her shoulders slump on their own accord. They had gone to Honnleath for answers, but only gotten more questions, it seemed.

Walt Whitman's  _Leaves of Grass_ felt like home. Hell, it even _smelled_ like home. It smelled the popcorn she always ate when reading it and like something that reminded her of the marigolds her father always had in the summer on his balcony in Port Washington. The smooth hard cover still had the few nicks in it from years of love. An aesthetically pleasing young Walt Whitman adorned the cover with leaves swirling around his green shirt. Memories upon memories of talking her sisters' ears off with passages from the book with dramatic flairs thrown in. The sheer romanticism that Whitman wrote with was what had captured her heart.

"Let's go find Cass and Solas so we can--oh shit!" A folded piece of paper fell out of the pages. Regan scooped it up and walked out into the light to unfold and read it. Well,  _looked_ at it would be more accurate. It was another cipher, but this one looked...familiar. She couldn't decode it on the spot to save her life, but the numbers on it looked familiar. There were three numbers at the bottom. 15 16 23. "Cole, can you go find Solas and Cassandra, please? Bring them here." Without further explanation, she made her way over to Moose and dug through her saddlebags for the decoded cipher.

Using the last method of putting a number to every letter of the alphabet, she was able to make a word out of the three numbers: pow.

"What the fuck?" Regan said aloud, scowling. "Fucking 'pow.' That's all you can give me?"

"Regan!" Cassandra called as her, Solas, and Cold came back. "Cole says you found something?" Regan handed her the book wordlessly and kept scanning the cipher. "Poetry? Why would someone give you a poetry book?"

"Because it's  _my_ poetry book," she replied. "Inside cover. There's fifteen tally marks. I marked how many times I read the book back to front. It was a gift from my dad." She showed them the new cipher. "This was in there too."

Solas looked as well. "Would this work with the previous cipher?" he asked. "Land navigation plot points?"

Regan shook her head. "You need two four digit numbers. These are just pairs, and they don't fit with the map I have." She shrugged, frustrated. "In any case, hey, we found what they wanted us to." She looked up at the sky, approximating how much light they would have before night came.

Taking the words right out of her mouth, Solas suggested they set up camp, stay the night, and leave for Skyhold in the morning. They all agreed and started to unpack their saddlebags to set up for the night. The playing kids from before ran by in a game of tag, startling Regan. Cole was practically at her elbow in an instant. "Searing sun, blazing sands, relaxed for the rest of the day. He's handing out windmills, but they're little, and they shine in the sun. His name was Washington. Her name was Amira."

Regan's knuckles went white as she gripped the reins as tight as she could. Her blood rushed to her chest and her vision tunneled. She stumbled against Moose and he snorted indignantly at her and tried to move away, pulling her to her knees. Her mind erupted into chaos. Shouting, screaming, crying, the noises of hell that she could never get far from. Far off, she heard Cherry's sharp bark and suddenly her retriever's body was pressed against hers, growling at whoever got close. Ferelden was replaced with hot desert air and dust. There had always been dust and sand there. It stuck to everything.

"Eagle, Owl, Heron," she breathed, holding onto Cherry's leather vest. "Muskie, Loon, eagles at Mallard..."

Amira had sent Regan home.

\---

July 4th 2015

_"There's a joke to be made here about 'row, row, row your boat' or some equally childish reference," Regan called to the canoe in front of her holding her uncle John and her dad. She was in a single person kayak in the middle, and her twin sisters were behind her in a second canoe. The Galloway brothers were properly "dad drunk," off of Bud Lite. Holland didn't like beer, but Hallie had a can of it pinched between her knees, waiting to be spilled. Regan's choice of recreational drink was Redd's that was carefully sitting in her kayak's cup holder. All she had to worry about was somehow doing a full barrel roll in the Buffalo River._

_"River" was a bit of a stretch. More like a "creek." Still, it wound miles longer than the distance it actually covered. The best part of it twisted and turned in a valley near Alma, Wisconsin until it emptied into the Mississippi River. The Buffalo was all shallow, fast moving water with sandy bottoms. Perfect for catching any kind of river fish. And perfect for the occasional canoeing trip that lasted most of the day. They were tracking the length of the trip by the rate at which the empty Buds and Redd's collected at the bottom of the two canoes._

_"Or about drunken sailors," Holland laughed. "Wanna sing some sea shanties?"_

_Regan started whistling the tune to Anne Louise, trying not to smile and lose the tune when she heard Holland laugh. The two dads were caught up in their own dad conversation. Hallie snapped not-unkindly to Holland to pick up the pace. Regan just paddled along, following the lazy current of the river. The Buffalo had a constant dirty look to it, the water never clear. but it was only fine silt and sand that muddied the waters, hiding only God knew what. But it was perfect for a little trip in their little boats._

_"We're gonna take a quick stop up at the next bend, girls!" Dad called. The three of them answered with wordless sounds of affirmation._

_It was a little difficult for Regan to exit her kayak. It was a closed top, so her legs were covered. She ran her kayak as far up the sandbar as she could before jabbing her paddle in the sand beneath it to stay put. Holland jumped out from the front of her canoe and hauled the kayak up further. Regan grabbed the sides and pushed herself up to sit on the top behind her, allowing her to get her legs out of the hole without possible disaster. She was happy her knee survived the explosion, but she missed her fully functioning ankle. All her prosthetic could do was bend a little, and that was only if she was wearing the right prosthetic. For example, her running prosthetic didn't have a "foot," just a flat bottom._

_Regan reached over her head and stretched, glad she wasn't confined in a tight safety vest. "Gettin' a little red there," she noted to Holland, pointing out a vague stripe across her nose and cheeks. Holland scoffed and pushed Regan's pointing finger away._

_"Redheads don't tan," Hallie joked, grabbing a water bottle from the cooler in the dads' canoe. "We burn." She took a long drink as she walked by her older sister, smacking her on the shoulder. "Be glad you're not one, motherfucker."_

_Regan ran a hand through her short, raven hair and winked. "Every morning I wake up, Hal." She grabbed her drink from the cup holder in her kayak and took a sip._

_It was a near-perfect day. The only thing that was missing was Cherry. Regan kept thinking that her retriever would've loved the trip, loved all the new smells and sights. The only thing she wouldn't have liked was the canoe. The rocking back and forth and trying to get footing on a metal surface. Still, she was hoping she was enjoying staying in the air-conditioned house, playing with John's dog, Lucy. Regan scoffed to herself as she revised her hopes, thinking that the two dogs would probably be napping in the sunny living room._

_"Doing good in that little tube?" Dad joked, walking up. "Leg good?"_

_"Leg good," she confirmed with a smile, kicking the limb in question out for emphasis. "Little stiff, but leg good." He chuckled and ruffled her hair. "We still going swimming later?"_

_"Yep. John insists that the little island empties out around dinner time." He squinted down the valley, putting his hand up to block what light his sunglasses couldn't. "I think we've got about three miles left."_

_Her dad looked happier. Not only that, but he looked healthier. He'd let his hair grow out into a nice salt-and-pepper wave. He'd also shaved his beard for the summer, shaving off ten years as well. As odd as it was to think, the divorce suited him. He didn't have to suffer the battles of child custody because his three daughters were adults. The day she'd gone with him to look for apartments and houses was like a day-cation, settling on a condo in Port Washington, right on the damn lake._

_She could remember a lot about that day, but nothing was as sharp in her mind as the image of her father standing at the floor-to-ceiling window, hands on his hips, and simply letting out the most relieved sigh she'd ever heard._

\---

Moose was being nice. Considering he spent most of their trip to Honnleath pushing Regan's envelope, that wasn't saying much. Then again, considering what he was doing, she wasn't sure his aim was to be nice. He was pulling on the drawstring of Regan's high school sweatshirt with his teeth until she'd pull the other end so he could do it again. Every time, he'd flutter his upper lip and flash his teeth at her as if he was smiling or soundlessly laughing. Maybe he  _was_ trying to be nice and cheer her up.

 _I mean, it's sort of working._ She was smiling a little. "You're a dork," she murmured, rubbing his nose. She sighed heavily and closed her eyes. "This was supposed to be an easy trip, Moose."

Cherry had nearly snapped Cassandra's fingers off when she tried to comfort Regan during her episode. Her sweet, cuddly retriever who was trained to comfort her during her episodes, to keep her safe from her nightmares,  _snarled_ at her companions. She probably thought they were the ones who triggered her episode, her discomfort. Now, she stood close by to Regan, practically attached to her right leg, shielding her bad side. Quite suddenly, though, she swiveled her head away and growled quietly. Regan placed her palm on Cherry's head and followed her line of sight, finding Solas approaching them slowly with his hands up.

"I gather that she doesn't like people," he said.

Regan smirked. "She's just protective of me," she replied, gesturing that he could come closer. "Hush, Cherry." She took a deep breath and gave Moose one more rub on his nose. "I'm sorry about earlier. I hope I haven't upset Cole."

Solas made a small noise. "You were on your knees, at your weakest, and you're worried you upset Cole?"

"Of course! He was just...being Cole. And I lost it." She shook her head. "And when he mentioned Amira..." Her vision blurred as tears welled in her eyes. Cherry whined at her. "I'm fine, girl, don't worry," she said quickly. "Sorry, Solas, I'm sure you're just here to make sure I'm okay and I'm about ready to fall into another hole."

He placed a warm hand on her shoulder. "You have nothing to apologize for, Regan," he assured her. "It is as you say, I've only come to make sure you're okay."

She nodded. "For now. Dunno how I'll sleep, but that's a problem for later." Cherry looked up at Solas and whined again, licking her nose. "I think someone wants to help," she chuckled, remembering her deal with Lyanna. "Got any tea to spill, Solas? Anything buzzing around in that smart head of yours?" He cocked his head and made a quiet, indifferent sound. "Maybe a certain, small-ish Dalish elf whom we all technically work for?"

Moose continued to pull at her drawstring, nodding his head to flick the string up and down. "Will you cut it out?" Regan giggled. "I'm not a cutthroat spy, Solas. I owe the Inquisitor quite a lot, and she seemed a little...irked the last time we talked. You two are...close..." She stretched out the S as her thoughts trailed off.

Solas' voice was calm and collected as he spoke. "Inquisitor Lavellan is a remarkable woman capable of undergoing an avalanche of stress and still managing to stand tall."

"And an actual avalanche," Regan added with a smirk.

Solas mirrored it. "Yes. She acts with compassion in such a way I have rarely seen in my travels in the Fade. I imagine her influence on Thedas will decide the fate of many for possibly decades to come."

"Of that, I've no doubt," she agreed. "But I'm not talking about Inquisitor Lavellan, Solas. I'm talking about Lyanna. You two are close. Has she seemed...distracted in any way?" Moose pulled at her drawstring again. "Moose, I swear to all that is good an holy, I'll get regular spurs for the ride home if you don't let me have this conversation." Solas chuckled at the tiny flare in her temper. "Sorry. Army attitude."

"Lyanna is a woman who desires many things, the most of which is gentleness. Her life as the Inquisitor requires her to steel herself against such vulnerabilities such as the affection she seeks. It is natural for her to feel that in one of her own people."

"An elf?"

"She cannot return to her clan. She is surrounded by people who view her culture as heresy. Do you not wish to be with your family again as she does?"

Regan thought for a moment. She thought about her dad and how much he was there for her when she had gone through her worst. She thought about her mother and how they hadn't talked in what seemed like forever. She thought about the twins and how grown up they'd looked and acted the last time she'd seen them. She could remember how firmly Hallie had hugged her when they'd said goodbye. 

"I do," she willingly admitted. "Of course I do. I haven't heard from them in quite some time. And yet...I promised the Inquisitor my service. I intend to keep that." She paused. "You haven't answered my question, Solas, so I'll rephrase it. Are you worried about Lyanna in any way, shape, or form?"

Solas's normally lukewarm presence turned chilly, as if she'd put a foot over a line. "For the future? Always. However, as for right now, no more than what is necessary." He took a breath. "You must forgive me, Regan. The hour is late and our return home will be long. Good night."

 _Good night?_ Regan thought as he turned away and left her alone with Moose and Cherry.  _Alright, you egg, cool it with the attitude._ Moose pulled on her drawstring once again. "Found a clue, freaked the hell out, got a bit of sass from the Inquisitor's Fade expert..." She made a face at Moose. "Interesting trip, no?"


	7. she dances in the starlight of her people

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it's all about the little things.

Regan Galloway was an anomaly.

At least, that was the first thing that came to Cullen's mind as he spotted her in the yard. She'd just narrowly avoided a wide and devastating swing from Krem's warhammer. He saw a flash of intense fear in her eyes before every aspect about her was steeled once again as she raised her sword and shouted that sounded vaguely like an Antivan curse. Bull's man just laughed and set his warhammer on his shoulders. Her dog, Cherry, sat patiently outside the circle, frozen in place as she watched Regan intently, but she never moved. Not even a twitch of her tail. Even Lucy sometimes got a little too excited when she watched him spar, running around the ring and barking.

"OH!" Regan shouted suddenly, dropping her sword and clamping her arms around her chest. She dropped to her knees and folded in on herself, groaning. "KREM!" she laughed, falling on her back. "OOH! WHY?"

Krem was leaning on his warhammer, almost in tears with laughter. "I-I'm sorry, Re!" he gasped.

"That was a dirty hit!" 

"Commander?" Cullen turned his attention to a messenger for a minute or two to discuss a report from the scouts in the Western Approach. The messenger gave a salute and swiftly left on his next delivery, and Cullen was free to observe the yard once again. He was constantly surprised how skilled Regan was. She'd joked many times about how long it had been since she'd held a sword or marched in an army, and yet she lived and breathed that kind of life. She wasn't afraid to jump. Hell, she'd probably even ask, "How high?" She always joked about her leg, or rather, her lack of one. She'd spent hours with Harritt and Dagna to modify her prosthetic for better mobility. He knew her ankle was never good enough for her, but it was good enough to keep her alive. She was even almost as fast as Sera.

Whether or not she was trustworthy was still up for debate, however. He had once expressed his slight concern to the Inquisitor, but she had replied firmly, declaring that Regan could be trusted as well as any of her chosen companions.

"Regan's lost...a lot, Cullen," she had said. "The Inquisition is her home now."

Cullen exhaled. For how many among them was that same statement true? How many had lost everything they'd had and looked to the Inquisition? How many were brave enough to leave behind friends and family in order to pledge their service? How many had given their lives for it? Regan was just one of thousands, but like all of the Inquisitor's companions, she had special, telltale quirks that set her apart. Her leg, of course, was one of them. She was charismatic, witty, and compassionate. But when she fought or sparred, she was a razor sharp edge who knew the shadow of war far better than others. Death wasn't a stranger to her. Not by a long shot.

Now she was talking to Cole. The spirit boy seemed timid and apologetic by his stance. Cullen could spot her silver smirk even at this distance. She gently lifted the rim of Cole's had and looked under it. They knelt next to Cherry and kept talking. He'd read her report from their little trip to his home village. He had considered requesting to travel with them, but thought better of it. What was left for him in Honnleath? His family had moved and he seriously doubted anyone still there would remember him. She'd written in that she'd had troubles when confronted with a part of her past. Understandably, she hadn't gone into much detail, but she  _had_ mentioned that Cole had said something.

"Commander!"

He sighed. There was always something more, wasn't there?

\---

"Checkmate," Dorian quipped.

Regan dropped her head to her hands, sighing. "I'm terrible," she said. "Literal trash."

Dorian chuckled. "You're improving, at the very least. You lasted much longer than last-" He cut himself off and pointed at her dejectedly. "Don't you dare." She looked up at him, grinning wickedly. "Do. Not. Regan, I'm serious. I'll-"

"That's what Bull said to you last night."

The sound of Dorian's knees hitting the underneath of the table was just as comical as the sound of Regan's chair screeching as it skid across the floor and slammed into a bookshelf. She would have been faster, but Dorian had two good legs and caught up to her after they dashed past Grand Enchanter Fiona and she'd nearly gotten her hand on the door handle. His arms wrapped around her middle and she shrieked with laughter, kicking her legs. His fingers dug into her ticklish sides and she lost all her breath in an instant. He was far stronger than she thought he would be for a mage. She was definitely stronger thanks to all the training she did, but her laughter turned her muscles to wet noodles, useless. They were probably quite the sight and for the normally quiet rotunda. 

"You know-" she wheezed, trying to speak while also laughing and while also trying to breathe. "You know it's _true!"_  She could feel her face flush as she kept struggling to breathe and laugh at the same time.

"You are absolutely childish!" Dorian exclaimed as he struggled to keep a hold on her.

"You're assaulting a cripple!" she squealed, going completely limp in his arms. He let her fall to the ground and catch her breath. He looked down at her and shook his head, a smile playing on his lips.

"I hate you," he said.

She stuck her tongue out at him. "You _love_ me," she countered. "I'm the only one who could even _begin_ to match your dramatic flair of a personality and you know it." He offered a hand and she took it. "You're like the brother I never wanted, Dorian." He laughed at that. "One more match?"

"So I can best you yet again? Be my guest, Re."

Theodosian chess, in Regan's mind, was unnecessarily complicated. Who needed a hexagonal board when square ones made so much more sense? And there was so much more strategy in it! Every match was a battle plan in her mind. Still, if she was ever in her life going to win a chess match, shed at least need to know how to do it. Besides, the break from being tossed around in the ring had worn a little thin. She'd come to the same conclusion shed been coming to for years: you simply couldn't beat your problems back with a hard enough hit. Not one like Amira. She needed to accept what had happened and move on already. Though, she was glad she'd taken a preemptive stride and talked to Cole about it. She didn't blame him, not one bit. He couldn't have known how she would react to hearing Amira's name again.

Regan could recall every finite detail about little four year old Amira. The way her eyes shined like diamonds in the sand under the desert sun when she laughed. The lazy wave her dark hair held. She liked horses, but only white ones. Her favorite color had been blue, but not light blue. Blue like the color of a freshwater lake. Or "blue like your eyes" she had told Regan. She always squealed with laughter when Washington had picked her up and spun her around so she could feel like she was flying. Her laughter could probably make even Tommy Lee Jones smile. Everyone loved Amira.

"Regan?" The Inquisitor's blonde head and green tinted tattoos poked out from the edge of one of the bookshelves, smiling with an air of deviousness. "Hi, Dorian."

"Hello, my dear."

Lyanna held her hands behind her back. "Do you mind if I steal your opponent? There is something I wish to discuss with her."

"Who am I to say no to Thedas' Inquisitor?" He shot a look at Regan. "This counts as a forfeit."

Giggling at his remark--and Regan's answer of a disgusted noise that even Cassandra would be proud of--Lavellan lead her back towards the main hall and up the stairs to her quarters. Regan didn't have to do any strenuous thinking to guess what she wanted to talk about. She smirked. How did she, the most single as fuck person she'd ever known, always end up the one to give relationship advice? Hell, she'd been giving it even before she'd ever even been in a relationship. As a general rule of thumb, it was always good to give advice that you'd want to hear as well. 

Regan realized she'd been lost in thought when she finally noticed how Lyanna was lying flat on the floor, hands pillowing the back of her head. "You okay?" she asked.

She sighed heavily. "I'd say it's been a long day," she said, "but they're all long days."

"I know that feeling," Regan replied, sitting cross-legged at Lyanna's side. "I'm assuming you want to know how my little private interrogation with Solas?"

"Might put me at ease, yeah."

 _I'm not too sure about that._ "Well, for starters, he seemed very, um...let's say  _irritated_ that I was asking questions about you and him." Regan ran her hands through her hair. "He mentioned something about how it was natural that you two have feelings for each other because you're elves. Something like that." Lyanna frowned at the ceiling, but kept quiet. An embarrassed blush was burning Regan's ears. "I asked him if he was worried about you, either now or for the future. For the future, he said he'd always worry. But, uh..." She faltered.

"You can keep going, Re. I want to hear."

"It's not that he said anything wrong, per say!" she said quickly. "But I just didn't like how he said he would worry, 'no more than what is necessary.' I didn't like that part." Regan bit the inside of her lip as she paused. "That's...that's about it. He didn't want to talk after that."

Lyanna sat up abruptly, startling Regan a bit. "You know what?" she said. "Let's go have a drink." She hopped to her feet and offered her hands to her, pulling Regan up as well. "Who knows what kind of trouble we could get up to with alcohol."

"Let's grab Dorian at the very least. Who knows what  _that_ kind of trouble looks like?"

Dorian wasn't the only tag-along they picked up. They managed to catch the attention of one roguish dwarf and one massive qunari. If that didn't spell out "trouble" word for word, Regan didn't know what did. Still, their little troop wasted no time settling at a table at the Herald's Rest with their choice poisons. Regan gave them the abridged version of Lyanna's little problem. The four of them somehow got around to criticizing each other's advice instead of actually giving said advice.

"Bull! They should not just 'spice things up under the covers' to solve this problem!"

"Why not?" He boomed with laughter. "Live a little!"

"I'm with Blackberry on this one," Varric agreed, raising his drink to her.

Regan almost jumped to her feet as she stuck out a hand. "See! Believe me when I say sex won't fix a relationship! Experience, honey! Life's best teacher!"

"Simmer down, there, Regan," Dorian laughed, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"Do you guys have any genuine advice?" Lyanna giggled. Her cheeks were pinked from the wine she was drinking. At least she was more at ease, but it was hardly their intention to get her drunk. 

"Sorry to say, Pear," Varric began, "but you're the only one who can solve this puzzle. Re?"

"Communication is key," she supplied. "Not much more to it than that." She leaned forward towards Lyanna. "Remember what I said before I left? Nobody gets into relationships just to please someone else. We do it for us." She sipped on her drink. "Do if for you, Inquisitor."

\---

Hallie looked around, smirking. "Is this...PCB?"

Regan chuckled and stretched out on her beach towel. "You wanted a change in scenery," she retorted. "I figured you like going back to Panama City Beach."

"And you were right!" she exclaimed, taking a spot on the towel next to Regan.

Regan and her family had taken a vacation to Florida once for spring break. They'd stayed at the Sand Piper Hotel, a little, classically styled beach hotel. None of that high-rise bullshit. It was bleached white and accented with ocean blue. The openness of the hotel always let a cool breeze flow through the hallways. They made Bisquick pancakes every morning. If she remembered correctly, they'd consumed almost eight bags of Doritos over the course of four days. Their room had a balcony that let them stare at the sea whenever they wanted. The literal perfect view for a beach vacation. They'd always throw Doritos to the seagulls when the hotel staff wasn't around. Like the view, the whole trip was perfect.

Well, almost perfect. Their car decided to kill itself after they were all almost as south as any Wisconsinite would dare go. Rental scooters could be found all around Panama City Beach, and there are practically no sidewalks down there to get anywhere, so they rented a few. Regan got her own, piss-colored scooter while her mom and dad were stuck on theirs with the twins. In a way, Regan was glad their car broke down. How else could she have experienced almost getting rear-ended by another gung-ho scooter-head whom she'd bravely challenged to a race?

Panama City Beach was where she experienced the most painful sunburn on the tops of her feet she'd ever felt. Panama City Beach was where she'd seen firsthand how white tropical sand was. It was where she'd realized how salty seawater exactly was. It was where she'd gone to a true "crab shack" for genuine seafood. There were a lot of things about Panama City Beach, but she always remembered  _the beach_ the fondest. Hours of beach volleyball with her family and other tourists. Learning how to fly a kite (then watching in amused horror as it eventually spun crazily in a pinwheel of death).

The perfect beach for an almost perfect beach vacation.

"Guess what I'm gonna ask about?" Hallie teased her in a singsong voice.

"Don't..."

Hallie snorted and curled on her side, laughing. "Oh, come on! I'm your little sister! It's my job to tease you about your crushes!" She took another few seconds to laugh her ass off. "How about we change the scenery a little. Somewhere with a little more pizzazz?"

Regan's dream changed in the would-be blink of an eye. Quite suddenly, they were a few hundred feet above the crystal blue waters of the Gulf. A bright yellow sail with a bold smiley face held the wind above them. A boat that looked perspectively tiny was towing them along the length of the Beach. On their left was the vastness of the Gulf of Mexico. On their right was the panhandle of Florida. 

She burst out laughing. "Holy shit!" she yelled. "Parasailing! I'd almost forgotten we did this!" She let go of the straps connecting her to the sail and thrust her hands in the air, whooping at the top of her lungs.

"You like him," Hallie said, smiling at her sister. "The Commander."

"What's not to like about him?" Regan laughed in reply. With the sea air snaking through her hair and the warmth of the sun, it was impossibly not to feel as light as the air around them. "He smart, his voice is like honeyed tea when he isn't yelling, and he's fucking gorgeous. And he likes dogs! You know I'm a slut for dog people!"

If Hallie could've fallen backwards out of her harness, she would have for how far she threw her head back to laugh. Her sunglasses nearly flew clear off her face. Her red hair fluttered around her like flames. Her sister was the very image of joy. "Then why don't you do anything about it?"

Regan made a face at her. "Oh, I don't know, maybe the fact that I haven't been in a relationship since I was eighteen has something to do with it. That would be a good place to start."

Hallie pointed to the sea below them. "Look. Dolphins." Sure enough, a pod of what were probably Atlantic bottlenose were making their way through the gentle waves. A few of them were always taking a leap or two above the water. "Remember that Matt Damon movie,  _We Bought a Zoo?_ _"_

"Are you going to tell me something about twenty seconds of courage?"

The corners of Hallie's mouth stretched, showing off her premature laugh lines and that single dimple in her left cheek. "You've made quite the impression already. I reckon he thinks of you as more than just an ordinary soldier." She looked down below them at the pod of dolphins. "Wanna go for a swim?"

Regan frowned at her like she'd misheard. "Um...we're kinda parasailing at the moment..." Hallie motioned to the buckle across her chest. Technically, the only thing keeping them from falling were harness seats made out of the same straps that were hooked across their torsos, but their legs weren't strapped to their torso harnesses in any way. Theoretically, they could simply...slide right out. But that would be crazy. 

Yet, she grinned wickedly. She was dreaming, after all. What could a little pencil dive into the ocean do to her? "Ready?" she giggled, her heart thumping in her chest excitedly.

"On three, bitch!" Hallie laughed. "One.."

"Two..."

"Three!" they shouted in unison, ripping the buckles free and sliding out of their seats, falling in to open air.

\---

Regan sat bolt upright with a gasp. Cherry lifted her head with a yip, tense against her legs. After taking a few seconds to realize she was in her room at Skyhold, she let out a breathy laugh and let her eyes fall closed again. Dropping hundreds of feet to make an impressive splash was absolutely something she would do in a dream. Hell, she'd even do it in real life if she had the promise that she would live. She gave Cherry a few gentle pats on her head. 

"I'm okay, girl," she giggled. "Just one of those dreams where you wake up by smashing your face on something hard at terminal velocity." She sighed. "Wanna go outside? I need some fresh air." Cherry yipped again and jumped to the floor, tapping her paws excitedly on the floor. Regan eyed her prosthetic resting against her bedside table, making a face at it. Her legs was still a little sore from her sparring match earlier in the day. She grabbed her crutches instead, scoffing. She hadn't needed to use crutches in literal years. 

Regan was glad the gardens were empty in the middle of the night. With Skyhold's ancient magic warming the place, fireflies blinked lazily among the flowers and other plants. Cherry trotted down practically every path, searching for the perfect bush to pee on. Regan just wandered along, simply enjoying being alone under the open sky. She wondered where she'd meet Hallie next in her dreams. Or maybe next time she'd talk with Holland or her dad.

Cherry bounded up to her with something in her mouth. Crouching down as best as she could with her crutches, Regan held out her hand and said, "Drop it." Adding a liberal amount of slobber to it, Cherry gently dropped a leather glove into her hands. "Ew," she scoffed, shaking a hand dry. "Where did this come from?"

\---

 _It_ has _to be around here somewhere,_ Cullen thought as he scanned the ground beneath his feet for his lost left glove. He was effectively searching in the dark, in the middle of the night. He supposed it was his fault, considering he talked himself into venturing into the gardens in the first place. It hadn't even been the lyrium that kept him from sleep. He kept thinking about mindless things. Like how the day had been unseasonably warm, or how he'd forgotten to eat lunch, or how he was still wondering why Regan and Krem had laughed during their match.

"Where did this come from?"

Cullen froze. He hadn't expected anyone to be in the gardens in the middle of the night. He looked around but couldn't see anyone. However, the voice sounded familiar. The soft bark of a dog confirmed the voice belonged to none other than Regan Galloway. He finally spotted her when she stood up and he could see her over the shrubbery of the garden. When she walked, she seemed to be limping heavily. He wondered briefly if it was due to her sparring match. He thought about leaving quietly. He wasn't sure why, but he had a feeling that he didn't want her to see him in the gardens late at night. Though, as he spent precious seconds thinking about his escape, she noticed him too.

"Commander," she said, grinning. "Funny seeing you here in the middle of the night."

He almost didn't respond, too surprised to see that her odd way of walking was due to the fact that she was using crutches. She wasn't wearing her prosthetic leg. Her dog, Cherry, stuck close to her impaired side. "I could say the same of you," he managed, offering a smirk.

She glanced down at Cherry. "Had an..." She snickered. "An interesting dream. Nothing bad, thank the Maker, but interesting nonetheless." She shifted a little on her crutches. "What about you? Anything interesting keeping the Commander of the Inquisition up and in the gardens?"

"Do you want to sit?" he asked, gesturing to a bench nearby. It couldn't possibly be comfortable to stand still for long on crutches. She nodded and made her way over to it, sitting down without a problem and setting the crutches beside the bench. Cherry wandered off down the paths of the gardens, no doubt more interested in her own business than whatever conversations was about to unfold. "I couldn't stop thinking," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck as he sat down as well. "Little things, you know?"

She smiled knowingly. "The ol' 'every time I turn over I'm thinking of something new?' Yeah, I'm familiar. What were you thinking about?"

Cullen smirked again. "Are we starting our game again?"

"I believe we are. Your turn, Commander."

 _Always witty,_ he thought.  _She thinks faster on her feet than Sera._ "The little things," he repeated from before. "I forgot to eat lunch earlier today. Or, yesterday, I suppose. Also about the move towards the Western Approach. Plenty of ground to clear out there and we don't know exactly how much time we have to do so." He studied her carefully. Her carefully carved features indicated she was listening with endearment. "You're going with them."

She gave a slight tip of her head. "I've fought in desert conditions before, when I was in the army. The Inquisitor thought I'd be a good choice to take along. Experience and all that. Though...I almost asked her to take someone else."

"Why?"

The right corner of her mouth stretched into a smirk. "I lost my leg in a desert, Commander. I haven't been in a desert in a very long time. And I certainly wasn't investigating Grey Wardens and blood magic." She sighed, looking up at the stars. "The world is infinitely big, yet it seems to keep growing every day. I'm just hoping Dagna finishes the prosthetic she's working on for me before we go. I don't think mine will do good in sand. Not well at all, in fact." She shook her head slightly. "You asked two questions in a row, Commander," she said, her telltale quirk returning to her voice.

He couldn't help but grin. "Apologies, Blackberry."

"Ugh!" she groaned. "Threaten to punch a 'Vint  _one time_ and Varric makes a nickname out of it. Typical."

"What would you've wanted instead?"

She laughed. "That's three," she pointed out, but moved to answer anyway. "My sister, Holland, called me Brandy for months on end. I, um..." A bridge of red appeared across her cheeks. "I used to sing this song all the time. It's called  _Brandy,_ but she only started to really call me that when I threw up after drinking too much  _actual_ brandy." She held up a hand before Cullen could ask any  _more_ questions. "My turn. How'd you get so good at chess?"

Days and days spent staring at carefully placed pieces with Mia sneering at him from the other side of the board flooded his mind. "My older sister and I played for years before I left for the templars. She would  _always_ win, and always rub my face in it. Branson was determined to help me beat her. The day I finally did..." He grinned. "Let's just say those years of losses and practice finally paid off." He paused as he thought of another question. "If you don't mind me asking, what was your dream about?"

"I was with my other sister, Hallie. We were on a beach, talking mostly about..." The red on her cheeks spread down her neck and up to her ears. "Um..."

 _Don't say it, don't say it, Rutherford, you stupid ass, don't say it._ "You're blushing."  _Idiot!_

Regan whistled and he could hear Cherry rushing through the gardens to her. "We were talking about how everyone gets twenty seconds of stupid, insane courage in their lives to use on anything they want. Anything. The thing is...nobody needs to use them _all_ at once." Before he could ask what she meant, she grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him close, planting a firm kiss on his lips. "There goes three seconds," she breathed, getting up as quickly as she could with her crutches and rushed out of the gardens, leaving Cullen alone with his own burning blush and more questions than he wanted to ask.

He thought about going after her, even getting to his feet, but staying rooted to the ground beneath his boots. He thought about taking her hand and asking why. Why him? Why then?  _Twenty seconds of courage,_ he thought. What was she going to use the other seventeen on? A sliver of his mind hoped they involved him. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment in an attempt to clear his thoughts. No dice. He sighed heavily and glanced back at the bench.

His missing left glove was resting where she had been sitting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next stop: the Western Approach


	8. let me have my own ways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two days before leaving with the Inquisitor for the Western Approach, Regan hurries to figure out the second cipher.

"Ah!" Regan shouted, grabbing the space right above her knee as a bolt of pain shot from the point where her leg was cut off all the way to the ball joint of her right shoulder. "Fuck!"

"Sorry!" Dagna squeaked. Despite her apology, she was grinning. "Almost done."

The foot and calf she was fixing to Regan's leg stump was made of hickory wood and reinforced with red steel and parts from her prosthetic. The only catch was that it hurt like fuck to put it on. The runes embedded in the wood would supposedly--hopefully--connect to her nerve endings. Dagna said it would help her have more mobility in her right leg. As excited as Regan was to having the closest thing to a real leg again, it still  _hurt._  

Pain was easy enough to deal with. It was  _where_ it was coming from that bothered her.

"Eagle, Owl, Heron," she muttered through grit teeth. "Muskie, Loon, eagles at Mallard...son of a bitch!"

"Done!" Dagna declared, taking a few steps back and putting her hands on her hips, a wicked grin on her adorable face. "Go on, test it out!"

Regan sat up and turned so her legs were dangling over the table she had been lying on. Her heart was playing her ribs like a xylophone and her right knee and thigh were throbbing. But...she could feel the throbbing spread. Not up. Down.  _Down._  The back of the hickory-plus leg was tingling, wrapping around to the front like she had a shin splint. She inhaled sharply as what felt like needle pinpricks raced across the leg and down through the foot. She wasn't moving it, but she could  _feel_ it. Like phantom pain, but it was  _there._ There wasn't anything "phantom" about it. 

She wiggled her big toe.

Then promptly burst into tears.

It wasn't perfect, but it was Panama City Beach perfect. The new prosthetic kind of felt she'd sat on her leg and let it fall asleep, but it was just stuck between "asleep" and "TV static." 

"I...I..." she gasped, trying desperately to get words out, but she was crying too hard. She couldn't see anything through her tears. Her palms blindly wiped at her eyes, but new tears just took place, running rivers down her heated cheeks. "Jesus fuck..." She gripped the edge of the table and squeezed as hard as she could.  _I'm going to hyperventilate, I am literally going to die!_ She tried to focus on her breathing rather than try and steady it. Even it out, even if it did sound like a malfunctioning Dyson vacuum. 

 _Do it!_ she screamed at herself. She slid from the table, trying to catch herself on both feet, but falling to her hands and knees on the ground. She barely heard Dagna's curse and almost didn't feel the hand on her shoulder, but she waved her off. "Got...got it," she choked out.

_I have a right leg. I have a right leg. I have a right leg._

_Again,_ she added.  _I have a right leg_ again.

She planted her left foot firmly on the ground, leaning over her knee. Taking the most abysmal breath of her life, she pushed off her knee and jutted her right foot under her, standing properly.

_There's snow and dirt and stone and it's cold and I can feel it and I can feel it and I can feel it!_

Regan bent over slowly and put her hands on her knees, exhaling slowly. The edges of her vision was blurring too much for her liking. She smirked, despite  _everything._ "I'm either going to pass out, throw up, or scream," she said carefully. "I haven't decided which to do first."

"How about taking it slow?" Dagna suggested.

Hallie loved action movies. She saw  _John Wick_ in theaters five times when it came out. She always mentioned how the noise and the acting and the  _music_ made her heart jump while all she was doing was sitting down. She particularly liked the  _Fast and the Furious_ movies, too. Regan and their dad credited it as Hallie's inspiration to become a complete gearhead. She could fix any engine. She could change a tire in under five minutes. When she was in the garage, she became the white, redheaded version of Michelle Rodriguez. 

_"Ever notice how the most blood pumping parts of those movies are the moments when the tires spin and the DJ mix riffs and it's just WOW!"_

In all of two or three seconds, it happened. The wheels screamed, the music blared, and Regan was off with nothing but a curt, "Fuck that." 

She'd thrown discus and shotput in high school, but she'd also had time to run the hundred meter dash. And she had been  _fast._ Fast enough that she probably could have gotten an athletic scholarship had she not gone into the Army instead. She couldn't run nearly as fast as she wanted with her prosthetic--and even  _that_ leg was still in her bedroom back in Wisconsin--but it was still nice to run. Now, with an actual, functioning leg?

 _Maker,_ but she was just as fucking  _fast_ as she had been when she was eighteen.

The starting pistol had been fired. Skyhold became a blur. A fucking blur. She sprinted out of the main hall, past Dorian and Varric--who no doubt gave her a couple strange looks--and out the open doors. Her blood  _sang_ in her veins. The accompanying music in her head was deafening. She didn't care.  _Fuck,_ she  _couldn't_ care. She couldn't care that she was a little overdressed for such a sprint. She couldn't care that she could barely see because she was still crying. She couldn't care that her steps were infinitesimally uneven because she didn't have a boot on her right foot.  _She couldn't care_ that she dashed right through the open gate and fucking  _flew_ across the bridge.

When the stone disappeared beneath her feet and was replaced with packed down snow, she dropped. Flopped right down in the snow, spread-eagle, staring up at the sky, panting heavily. Her breaths came too fast to fog, but she could practically see steam coming from her heated face. Hysterical, breathy laughter was firing from her lungs.  _Eagle, Owl, Heron._ She closed her eyes and listened to her heartbeat, firm like the hooves of horses against her ribcage.  _Muskie, Loon, eagles at Mallard._

She jerked away when something warm and wet dragged along her mouth and nose, throwing her hands up. "Cherry!" she shouted, laughing. Another furry face nudged it's way next to Cherry's, joining in the assault of dog kisses. "Lucy! No!" She was off laughing again, trying in vain to shield her face from the affection they were giving one way or another. Every time she would turn away from one dog, the other would jump at the opening, snuffling and licking her face. She groaned loudly when Lucy's heavy paw jabbed into her midsection. "Why?" she moaned, laughing still. "I surrender! I yield! Mercy!  _Mercy!"_

Someone whistled sharply, drawing Lucy away abruptly. Regan got a hand on Cherry's protective vest and shoved her away as she stood up shakily. "You red retriever devil," she muttered, pressing her own kiss onto her soft head. She scooped up some snow and mussed it on her face, washing away the dog slobber. When she shook her hands dry and dragged her sleeve over her face with the same intention, she finally saw who had whistled.

She was glad she had a new leg that let her run state-record-breaking fast, because she nearly wanted to.  _Hell, I still might,_ she thought as she faced Commander Cullen. "Commander," she said steadily, giving an amusing attempt at a salute. "Thanks for calling off your mabari. I don't know how much longer I would've lasted." Despite her subconscious' desperate plea to be embarrassed for what happened between them a couple of nights earlier, she  _couldn't_ care. Dagna had given her more than she could've ever hoped for. She was  _free._

"I see Dagna and Harritt finished the new prosthetic," he noted, jerking his head at her right leg. Cherry was sniffing it thoroughly. "How's it feel?"

Her lips split into a massive smile. "Cullen, I just ran... _sprinted_ all the way here from the Undercroft. At an impressive speed as well, if I do say so myself." She took a deep breath. "It feels like the sky, Cullen. That doesn't make a whole lot of sense, but..." She glanced down at her new leg. "It feels like the sky during a sunrise. New and bright and..." She sighed and shook her head. "I'm rambling, aren't I? Sorry. It's been a very long time since I've been this happy. Too long, probably."

Cullen took a step closer. "You don't have to apologize, Regan. I can't even begin to imagine what you're feeling right now, but you seem..." He made a small sound, smiling and shaking his head. "I've got nothing," he admitted.

"We're in the same boat, then," she snickered.  _Say it. You're an adult. Talk about it, dammit._ "I, uh..." She rubbed the back of her neck, trailing her fingers through her short, snow-wet hair. She was probably going to miss the cold and the snow terribly once they were all the way out in the Approach. Scorching heat and blistering sands didn't sound like much fun, but she  _did_ promise herself to the Inquisitor, so she was shit outta luck. 

 _Focus, Regan, focus._ "I realize I may have...startled you? The other night, I mean." She grimaced, but tried at a friendly grin. "Twenty seconds of insane courage, and I just did that with three. Sorry?" A furious blush poofed onto Cullen's cheeks, stretching to his ears and down his neck. It was probably blooming across his chest as well. Flashes of sculpted pectorals and a defined abdominal area intensified her own blush to the status of a goddamn Californian forest fire.

 _Just fucking end it here,_ she begged.  _Jesus, God...Maker, whoever's up there and cackling at my current fucking up, please end my goddamn misery. Just smite me right now with a cool lightning bolt or maybe have me get stabbed in the Approach. Or right now, I won't be picky. Just-_

"I didn't mind," he finally said.

She almost didn't hear him.  _Say it again,_ she heard herself thinking. "Pardon?"

Cullen seemed to struggle for the right words, and he probably was. He rubbed the back of his neck and avoided her eyes. A habit they seemed to share. "I was... _am_ surprised," he managed to get out. "I just...I didn't know you thought of me like that...Nor did I ever thing someone would use their 'twenty seconds of courage' on me."

Regan clamped her mouth shut to stop herself from saying,  _Well, technically I only used three._ Instead, she took a deep breath and said, "I was glad to," instead. "I've had those twenty seconds for years. Gotta spend them sooner or later, right?"  _I'_ _m tapping out. This is too much torture._ "I should probably...I still need to...figure out the cipher...yeah. Come on, Cherry." She ran a hand through her hair roughly and started to make her way back to Skyhold.

Cullen caught her arm, pulling her close and nearly bashing her nose as he pressed his lips to hers. A thousand thoughts and none at all raced through her mind like lightning. There and gone without being entirely sure it was there to begin with. She scrambled to grab anything to keep her upright: his cloak, the mantle of it, his breastplate. His lips tasted faintly of peppermint and something sweet, like honey. She wanted to smile, to laugh, to point out how surprised she was, but all she could think of was how much she  _didn't_ want the moment to ever,  _ever,_ end. 

At the same time, she was glad it did. It meant that the kiss had happened and that it was real and she wasn't just hallucinating. She stared at him, herself breathless. Stared at his amber eyes, blown wide and just a tiny bit darkened. She stared at a stray curl of his hair being jostled by the wind. He smirked at her, that damn scar stretching all too attractively. She was so wrapped up in his unfairly attractive face that her knee buckled and she sort of stumbled against him. 

"Jesus-Christ-in-heaven!" she exclaimed, glad for Cullen's strong arms keeping her up. "Sorry. My knee..."

"Are you okay?" he asked.

She hid her face behind her hand. "I can't believe that just happened?"

"Like...good? Or bad?"

"Good!" she assured him quickly. "Surprising, but good. The 'I can't believe' part was that my  _good knee_ buckled, not my new one." She shot a cocky smirk at him. "Not _exactly_ sweeping me off my feet, but it'll do." Cullen chuckled, bringing out the baritone in his voice. Regan nearly melted at the sound now that it had a whole new meaning to her. "I really  _do_ need to work on that cipher, though. Destination: Western Approach in two days and all that."

"Would you like some help?" he asked, his voice impossibly soft, like velvet.

"I don't even know how to solve it," she admitted. "It's just number and numbers and-"

"Numbers?" he teased.

"A word. 'Pow.'"

\---

_August 17th, 2008_

_"Can someone get these away from me?" Regan called out, stuffing her mouth full of Doritos and munching hurriedly on them. She tried to laugh, little orange bits of the chips spraying everywhere. On the ground, in the fire pit, all across her lap. She chewed thoroughly and swallowed, taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry you had to witness that."_

_"Oh, please, I love watching you embarrass yourself," Natalie said, carefully leaning another log onto the fire. "It's one of my favorite pastimes." She sat down in the camping chair with a sigh. "God, I'm tired."_

_Regan wrapped the top of the Doritos bag over and set it down. "Thanks for driving us in here. I got some sweet photos on my camera of the sun over the mountains. I didn't expect Yellowstone to be such a...bowl."_

_It was true. It made sense, having a massive lake in the crater of a massive volcano that exploded at least three times, creating calderas that stretched for hundreds and hundreds of acres of what was considered "Yellowstone." Still, the mountains made one impressive rim. Driving through the eastern entrance into Yellowstone was a trip. First, they said goodbye to civilization in Cody, Wyoming and traversed through Shoshone National Park, then suddenly popped out between two mountains and BAM! You had the best view of Yellowstone Lake._

_They were staying at Bridge Bay campsite. It didn't have any electricity, but it had plumbing at the bathrooms located strategically around the over four hundred sites. Everyone had an RV, a trailer camper, or--if they were brave--a tent. The one thing that a lot of people didn't hear about Yellowstone was how fucking cold it was at night. Easily close to or at freezing. Luckily, their little trailer camper was insulated, but it was still cold as all hell in the mornings. And the lights in the bathroom turned off at night, making it the most terrifying pee of Regan's life. But the run to and from the bathrooms was the worst. Pitch blackness in the cold. The stuff of nightmares._

_"I got the hot dogs!" Natalie said, balancing a plate with a bun on one knee and a small bottle of ketchup on the other. She stuck a hot dog on a camping fork and hung it over the fire. "Do you think this attracts bears?"_

_"That'd be cool," Regan admitted. "Honestly, if I woke up tomorrow morning, looked out the window, and saw a bear trying to get in one of the bear boxes, I'd stick my head out the door to take a selfie."_

_"I'll take the video of you being mauled."_

_"Sweet. Wanna head up to to the valley later to see if the bison have moved down there?"_

_"Maybe we'll see the bear that's gonna maul you." Natalie's hot dog slid free from its skewer and tumbled into the ash and coals in the middle of the fire. Regan burst out laughing. Natalie made a sound that was halfway between a gasp and a shriek, hanging her head back and groaning excessively. "FUCK!" she shouted, not caring that there were some kids in the general vicinity of their campsite. "He was too young to die!"_

_Regan was holding a pained spot just under her ribs, gasping for air. "I can't breathe!" she squeaked._

_"He was too young to die!"_

_"Stop!" Regan bent over herself, tearing up. "You wasted a hot dog! We're gonna get bears!"_

_After they calmed down and finally ate, cleaned up, and put their things back in the camper, they jumped in the half-ton Chevy truck and roared out to the Pelican Valley overlook. A mile-long row of cars stretched up and down the road as everyone got out to hike it up to the best view. Most had binoculars or hunting telescopes on tripods, eagerly scanning the treeline for anything interesting. Natalie pulled their own chairs out of the bed of the truck and found a decent spot. It was nearing sunset. A lot of the animals of Yellowstone made their final moves of the day around dusk. Bison and sometimes bears wandered into Pelican Valley._

_Their trip out west had practically been spontaneous, which meant it could've been planned just a touch better. The thought made Regan smirk. She'd done a majority of the planning for the trip. First of all, they were late to leave for Fountain City. By three hours. From Fountain City--where they picked up her aunt's camper--they were off to the Badlands. Which was eight hours away. They were running across Minnesota and South Dakota with the sun._

_Unfortunately, unless they could drive at nearly a thousand miles per hour, the sun was going to outrun them. And it did. And the moon followed it over the horizon. But they were still driving, and driving, and driving. Regan was convinced that the part of Highway 90 that ran through South Dakota was the road to hell, because there was literally nothing on it, nearly driving her insane at the same speed she was driving the Chevy with the trailer. It was just before midnight when they pulled into their tiny little campsite and crashed into the wall of sleep._

_"How the hell did we manage to even get to the Badlands?" Regan asked Natalie, crossing her legs and sinking lower into her chair._

_"I dunno, I was sleeping," her best friend replied._

_"Yeah, and I was twenty minutes away from falling asleep at the wheel, bitch!" she snarked, laughing._

_Natalie smirked at her. "But you didn't."_

_"Lucky for you." They shared a laugh as they kept scanning the treeline._

_"When do you leave?" Natalie asked._

_"Couple months," Regan responded easily. "If I'd've joined for the summer basic training, I'd be gone already and in Missouri. But now they're sending me down to Texas." Natalie made a disgusted noise. "I know! I have Wisconsin ice water in my veins! I'm gonna hate it!"_

_"Who else is gonna insult you mercilessly as only a best friend can?"_

_She shrugged and made a face. "My future drill sergeant, I guess." Natalie chuckled, but it sounded halfhearted. "Hey, don't worry about it. I'll be back before you know it."_

_"Yeah, and then off to some fucked up country to get shot up."_

_"Wow! Way to be blunt about what you think's gonna happen to me!" Regan smirked, but Natalie still looked a tiny bit upset. "Hey, Nat...I'll be fine. Even if...something happens. I'll be good. Promise."_

_"I'm gonna hold you to that."_

_"And I expect nothing less."_

\---

"'Pow,'" Cullen echoed, looking over the cipher on her desk. "And you don't know what it means?"

Regan shook her head. She was brushing down Cherry, entertaining herself by balling up the loose fur and tossing them on her dog's head. She now had a triangle of little fur balls on the crown of her already soft head. "And I can't figure out the numbers either. They don't work with the last cipher, so it has to be a new puzzle." She hummed a few notes into Cherry's fur and giggled when her ears perked up. "You like that, huh? Remember that song?  _Nani Koʻolau a he pō anu; Ka ʻiniki welawela o ka Makasila."_ Cherry wagged her tail, licking Regan's nose.

She looked up to see Cullen watching her. "She likes it when I sing in Hawaiian," she explained. "Luckily, she didn't have to hear the early years when I was learning the language."

"I didn't know you sang," he said quietly.

"In five languages, yeah!" she laughed. "I can really only speak three of them, though. And I used to dance before I lost my leg." She shrugged and tipped her head, still thoroughly brushing her sweet dog. "And I can play a couple instruments, but I haven't touched most of them in years. Sort of a hidden talent because I never tell people that anymore." She got to her feet and gave one final pat to Cherry before going over to the table. "But it's not important. What's important is that I can't figure out this stupid cipher!"

There were far less numbers than the last cipher, but it made far less sense:

51 15 33 11 44 34 42 24

42 24 44 45 11 31

44 34 52 15 42

52 15 43 44 15 42 33

11 35 35 42 34 11 13 23

43 11 51 15 32 15

31 34 51 15 54 34 45

23 11 31

Then there were the three numbers at the bottom that spelled out "POW."

"Wait a minute," she muttered. Staring at the one word she managed to decipher. Trying to figure it out was like trying to punch through a brick wall with a bare fist, but it was bound to work eventually.

"What are you thinking?" Cullen asked, joining her at the table.

"What if it's not a word?" she said. "This one here at the bottom?"

"What else could it be?"

She grinned wickedly. "An acronym. P-O-W. Prisoner of war."

Cullen frowned. "I'm...still not following."

"Prisoners of war are known to use code to talk to each other so their captors won't understand what they're saying. But they don't have to talk."

Cullen stared at her, eyes wide with realization. "A tap code?"

"Tap code," she confirmed. "All that's missing is the commas between the numbers." They got to work translating the numbers into words, Regan knocking out the numbers and Cullen deciphering them into letters onto a scrap of paper. "Can I ask you something, Cullen?" Regan said suddenly.

He looked up from the paper. "Of course," he answered.

She ran a hand through her hair. Great, now she was having second thoughts about asking. "Why did you kiss me back?" she asked softly. "I mean, I'm glad you did and all, but I just..." She sighed and dragged her hands down her face. "Maker, I'm terrible at this, aren't I?" She heard Cherry give a soft boof, but Regan quickly hissed and snapped her fingers, keeping Cherry on the bed. "Why am I terrible at this?" She hid her face in her hands, trying to think of the right words to make her point. 

Before she knew it, Cullen was at her side. He gently took her hands in his, encouraging her to lower them. She was incredibly wary of him touching her skin even remotely close to her scarred wrists. Luckily, her gloves still covered them. "It's okay," he assured her. He offered her a gentle smile. "I'm not too great at this either. It's been a long time since I've felt anything like this for someone."

 _He's like six inches taller than me,_ she thought randomly as she looked up at him. His amber eyes were as warm as the fireplace in her room. Warm like when Cherry got up from the bed in the morning and left a delightful patch of warmth for Regan to take advantage of. His fingers and palms were thick and rough with callouses from years of handling swords and shields. But the backs of his hands were surprisingly soft. She ran her thumb across the tiny hairs there, stifling a giggle when his hands twitched.

"Tickles," he chuckled. 

"Sorry. My hands are tiny compared to yours." 

"They are, but they're nice. I can definitely tell which one you hold your sword with." Regan gasped sarcastically and smacked the back of her calloused right hand against his chest. "I jest!" He chuckled again. "It should be a compliment! The way you wield that sword is mad. You're a stabbing, slashing whirlwind."

"Poetic," she joked.

"See, though? Feeling more at ease?"

"Not really." She let out a breath. "You're still a piece of chiseled, blonde marble that's way out of my league. And I'm so worried I'll mess up something, either with you or with the Inquisition and..." She pressed a hand over her eyes. "I'm rambling again, aren't I? Swear on my grave the Inquisition has gotten me way too loose-lipped."  _Stop rambling for Christ's sake!_ She shook her head. "You didn't answer my question," she digressed. "Why you kissed me earlier today."

He pushed a lock of her bangs away from her face. "Because you used my name. You called me 'Cullen' instead of 'Commander.'" A feather-light blush appeared on his cheeks. "I tried to do the math and count up how many seconds of courage I had left in my life, but you were leaving and I just...leaped."

Regan's blush was as red as her sisters' hair, stretching up to the tips of her ears and disappearing down the collar of her shirt. "That's romantic," she noted pathetically. "Can we just...finish the cipher? I'm regretting bringing this up and embarrassing myself. But we can continue this conversation later. Promise."

Cullen brought her hands up and pressed a kiss to each row of her knuckles. "Okay. I didn't mean to embarrass you."

She puffed out her cheeks. "Oh, trust me, I did all that on my own. It's my least favorite talent of mine."

They finished up the cipher. The words weren't hard to finish once it was clear what it was going to spell out. And many of the letters and numbers repeated, making it even easier. It was as short and sweet as a telegram:

VENATORI

RITUAL

TOWER

WESTERN

APPROACH

SAVE ME

LOVE YOU

HAL

Regan's blood ran ice cold in her veins as she stared down at what Cullen's hand had written. Her hands and feet tingled and her vision tunneled. She stepped back and pressed her hands over her mouth. "That's impossible," she breathed, moving her hands up to grip tightly at her hair. "That...can't....I..." Tears blurred her vision. "That-"

"Regan?" Cullen's voice was overcome with concern. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"She can't be here!" she shouted. "She's not supposed to be here! She's  _can't_ be here!"

"Regan, please tell me what's wrong!"

Cherry barked, jumping between Cullen and Regan to keep them apart. She backed herself up against Regan's legs, trying to get her to get away from him, barking nonstop. Regan started pacing back and forth.  _It's signed with my sister's name, goddammit! How can she be here?_ She wondered briefly it it really was Hallie sending the messages.  _How could it_ not _be her? I found_ Leaves of Grass _in fucking Honnleath! That book and her name are too fucking convenient!_ Hot tears ran down her face as her brain kept mixing up a kickass cocktail of emotions.

Regan rounded on her dog. "Cherry! Hush!" Her faithful retriever was immediately silent, backing off with a quiet whine. Cullen held his hands up slowly but didn't move toward her. "'Hal' is my sister!" she exploded. "Hallie and Holland. They're twins. That's her nickname, but-" She groaned loudly in frustration. "How?! How is she here? I don't understand..." She took a deep breath, but it did nothing to calm her down. "Cullen, she  _can't_ be here."

"Why?"

"She's supposed to be at home! She's supposed to be with our mom! Not in the fucking Western Approach!" Her hands curled into tight fists. "I'm sorry, I just..." She shook her head. "She shouldn't be here, Cullen." She wrapped her arms around herself and tried to steady her breathing. Cullen took a tentative step towards her and held out a hand. She took it and allowed herself to be enveloped in his embrace. She tried to suck it up so she wouldn't cry all over his shirt. "She's in trouble, Cullen," she mumbled. "That's my little sister..."

"I know," he murmured against her temple. "I know. You're going to that tower soon, though. You'll save her. She's going to be okay. I'm sure of it."

\---

Regan was positive that what she was about to do was quite possibly the stupidest fucking decision of her life. Highly likely to end with her death. It was idiotic, foolish, and wholly not thought out.

But it was the only thing that sounded right.

The only thing she didn't anticipate was running straight into Hawke in the kitchens. Literally, bumped right into him. Bumped a plate right out of his hands, sending it clattering to the floor. Startled, Regan drew her sword halfway. The kitchen rang with the sound of the plate breaking and her sword being drawn. Hawke's right hand erupted into flames and they were in a stand off in an instant. Once she saw it was Hawke she had run in to and that he saw it was just Regan, they sighed in unison.

"Trying to end up as a little crispy pile of ash, Re?" he breathed, extinguishing his hand.

Regan sheathed her sword. "I'm sorry. I'm a little jumpy at the moment."

Hawke opened his mouth as if he was going to make a joke, but his eyes darted to her bag she'd dropped in the doorway to draw her sword. He frowned, but the ghost of a smirk appeared in the corner of his mouth. "Going somewhere?" he drawled.

Regan scowled at him. "No," she answered firmly. "I'm filling this bag with food so I can lock myself away in my room and eat it all without being judged."

He paused. "Why did I just relate to that?" he wondered aloud. He shook his head gently. "Look, I'm hardly one to judge mostly anyone, but you don't seem like the kind of person that would care. So...Going somewhere?" 

She realized her hand was still tightly gripping the handle of her sword. She relaxed her grip, sighing heavily. "Look. Here's the deal. Cullen and I figured out the cipher. They're notes from my sister, Hawke, my damn baby sister. She's in the Western Approach and she's in trouble. I'm leaving to save her. I'm not waiting another day. I don't have a plan, I don't have any fucking idea of what to do, but-"

"That's your sister," Hawke finished. He scoffed and hung his head. He pulled up a chair and sat on it backwards. He folded his arms on the backrest and planted his chin on them, smirking. "What's her name?"

"Hallie. She's three years younger than I am. So is Holland. They're twins."

Hawke groaned, laughing quietly afterwards. "Of course she's a twin," he murmured. He stood up abruptly and put the chair back. "I'm coming with you."

"What?" Regan exclaimed. "Why the fuck would you want to follow in my dumbass steps?"

He sighed loudly and put his hands on his hips. He sounded exhausted, but not the tired kind. "I lost a sister once because I didn't jump first. I was supposed to protect us all. And Carver, he just..." He shook his head. "If the Wardens are going crazy, and my little brother ends up in this shit? I'm jumping first. I promised him that."

The silence that stretched between the two veterans was one of understanding. They understood the stakes from having lived through some of the shittiest life had to offer. Luckily, they had the attitudes to take a punch and give one right back.

Regan picked up her bag. "I'll meet you in the stables."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wish my idiots good luck!


	9. you shall be more to me than my poem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regan and her little band of misfits fly across Orlais a day ahead of the Inquisitor in hopes of rescuing her little sister, Hallie, who supposedly wrote and sent the mysterious ciphers.

They were certainly an interesting looking party. That was one word for it, at least. One Champion, one Warden-Constable, one member of the Inquisitor's inner circle, and two mabari. They would've had an easier time ending the remaining Blights or ending the War of the Lions than blending in with Orlais. Which they were failing at spectacularly. Regan sighed. They stuck out like sore thumbs. One Fereldan, one Fereldan-Marcher, and her. And, of course, the mabari, one of them adorned with the blue and silver of the trademarked Grey Warden armor.  _That_ was certainly a rare sight to see in a country like Orlais.

She glanced to her right where Warden-Constable Alistair Their sat atop his Amaranthine Charger. She'd seen him around Skyhold after he'd returned with the Inquisitor from Crestwood, but she hadn't officially talked to him until last night. He was an easygoing, charismatic man with an underlying sense of duty and honor cast in steel. But when he wasn't talking or making jokes, he looked sad. Just like Hawke. Just like her. It was hard to find anyone in  _Thedas_ who wasn't hauling around some kind of ball-and-chain.

"Recruiting" Alistair for their "super secret suicide mission" hadn't been particularly challenging.

\---

_Regan rubbed deep circles into her temples fighting off a growing headache. "Can't you just...point it out on the map?" she said through gritted teeth. "We just need to know where it is, Alistair."_

_The Warden raised an eyebrow and shifted his weight from one leg to the other. "I mean, yes, but..." He glanced at Hawke standing off to the side, dressed for travel with a couple of saddlebags slung over his shoulder. "Why?"_

_She bit her tongue to keep her soldier attitude from snapping at him. They needed to_ go. _"Look. My sister is at that ritual tower. There's Venatori there. As far as I know, she's alive. I don't know how or why, but I'm going to get her. Hawke's coming too. We just need to know where we're going." She shot a dark look at him. "I'm not waiting here for another day, and I'm not about to risk any Inquisition resources by kickstarting the mission."_

_He gave her a thoughtful look, which didn't have much weight to it considering his sleep-mussed hair and his stubbled face where he was otherwise clean-shaven. He sighed and scratched absentmindedly under the loose collar of his shirt. "Do you have a map?" he asked. "Actually..." He rooted around in his own, half packed travel bag and pulled out his own map. "I can copy down the location on another one. Take this one." Regan took it with a nod of thanks. "So, you're really doing this? Just the two of you?"_

_"Celery's down by the stables," Hawke pointed out. The oddly named mabari was going to be their third member of their funky little group._

_Alistair raised his eyebrows. "A Champion, a soldier, and one mabari? In the Western Approach. Alone?"_

_"It's her sister, Alistair. I'd do the same for my brother. Hell, I'd already be_ gone _if it was Carver."_

_The Warden smirked a little. He looked over to where his own mabari, Ruby, was curled up on his bed in a tight ball, undisturbed. "Hell..." he breathed, his shoulders sagging. "Alright...give me a few minutes. I'll meet you guys at the stables."_

_"What?" Hawke and Regan said in unison._

_"I'm going with you guys. I was gonna go with the Inquisitor anyway so...might as well scout it out, right?" He offered a lopsided grin and shrugged. "I'll even bring Ruby. She's missed all the action."_

_Regan opened her mouth to protest, but Hawke put a hand on her shoulder, silencing her. "Ten minutes, Warden," he joked._

_"Yes, sir!" Alistair snapped, giving a poor attempt at a salute. "Come on, Ruby! Let's take a trip to Orlais!"_

_Ruby let out a heavy sigh._

\---

"What's she like, Alistair?" Hawke asked once the set up a small camp for the night. "Mahariel, the famous Hero of Ferelden! What's she like?"

 _The Hero of Ferelden,_ Regan echoed in her thoughts, tuning in an ear while she unpacked the tent.  _For some reason,_ they'd gotten it in their heads that they only needed one tent big enough to hold the three of them instead of packing three individual tents. Traveling light would get them to the Approach faster. Anyway, she'd heard tidbits here and there around Skyhold about the Hero, but not much was said outside the fact that she was Dalish and that she killed the Archdemon, effectively ending the Fifth Blight in 9:31, a little over a decade before the Inquisition was reformed.

Expecting Alistair to turn a little sad again and give a curt answer, she was surprised when he laughed. "I married her!" was the first thing he joyously declared, grinning wildly. Regan couldn't help but smile. "You sure you know what you're asking, Hawke? 'Cause I can go on for quite a while."

"We've still got a majority of Orlais to cross," Regan pointed out. "I think we'll be fine." She glanced at Hawke. "Unless you'd rather play 'I Spy?'" He stuck his tongue out at her.

"I spy a firefly," Alistair noted.

"Oh my god," she breathed, pinching the bridge of her nose. Alistair and Hawke snickered.

Regan and Hawke listened to Alistair talk while the three of them kept working. He talked with reverent enthusiasm. Callie Mahariel had been recruited to the Grey Wardens in 9:30 from the Sabrae Dalish clan in the Brecilian Forest of Ferelden. She was one of the best hunters in her clan, but a tainted eluvian, an ancient elvhen mirror got her a one-way ticket to Ostagar with Warden-Commander Duncan. She saved Redcliffe from the undead, settled political affairs in Orzammar, saved the Circle of Magi at Kinloch Hold, cleared out werewolves from the Brecilian Forest, and, most impressively, killed the Archdemon.

There were little stories as well, well after the sun had sunk below the horizon. A summer day on Lake Calenhad. Waking up to find their tents half buried in snowbanks. Recalling what the Temple of the Urn of Sacred Ashes looked like before Corypheus blew it to shit.

And she was kind. The halla followed her all around the Dalish camp. She was all "twinkle-toes and kindness." Alistair talked about how she used to sing with Leliana when they were all sitting around the campfire after a long day. She was always compassionate and merciful, but strong and hardheaded.

"Why the fuck did we only bring one tent again?" Hawke blurted out and he laid himself down, resting his hands across his chest. 

"Ha!" Alistair barked. "It's better than sleeping outside and waking up in a rainstorm and-"

"And then busting in on the nearest tent of someone you know and demanding they scoot over?" Regan supplied, setting her jacket aside to use as a pillow. "Yep, been there, done that." The boys burst out laughing. Alistair got trapped in the middle of taking his overshirt off, his elbows getting stuck in the sleeves. "My sisters were none too happy that I nearly ripped the tent open, wet and swearing, and demanded that one of them share a blanket with me."

"'Sisters?'" Alistair echoed, finally freeing himself. "Hallie's not your only sister?"

"Hallie's a twin," she explained. "Holland's the other one, but Hallie is who we're rescuing." She reached down and unclipped her leg from her...leg.  _Fake leg from real leg, there we go._ It popped free and she set it aside. It felt odd to lose feeling in a part of her body as suddenly as popping off a leg.  _Fake leg, Regan, fake leg._ "Why are we all in one tent?" she asked, taking her spot between Hawke and Alistair, sighing as she stared at the top of the tent.

"A better question might be is why are we making you be in the middle of this man sandwich?" Hawke noted.

Regan broke up laughing, clapping a hand over her eyes. When Alistair finally settled down in his own bedroll, they were suddenly like three sardines in a tin can. Trying to breathe normally, she answered with, "Because I'd be far more awkward if I woke up and saw you two spooning!" Now they were just three idiots in the middle of Orlais cracking up in a tent. "This is ridiculous!"

Hawke had a well-used laugh. One that was probably heard most in taverns and around friends. Bright and genuine, and a little worn, like a favorite pair of leather gloves. Alistair had a hearty, heavy laugh that was not soft in volume, but soft in feeling. He sounded like he loved to use it. Regan's laugh was loud, easily picked out in a room full of clamor and chaos. But when she really got into it, it went quiet, reduced to that throat-flexing clicking that left her with a head rush but a thrill in her blood.

Countless deep breaths and sighs later, they were lying in quiet, happy silence. "I can't thank you guys enough for this," Regan declared. "Really. I can't. I could say it every minute for the rest of my life, and it still wouldn't be enough."

Hawke scoffed. "Buy us a round when we get back and I'll consider us even."

"Me too," Alistair added.

"Deal. Just as long as a story about me being stuck in a man sandwich doesn't come out in a drunken recount."

And then the laughing started again.

\---

_June 30th, 2006_

_Regan cast her fishing line, flinching as it flew dangerously close to a low hanging branch, but relaxing when it landed safely in the water. She flipped the reel over and waited. Her dad was on the other side of the boat, fishing further from the shore with a lure, aiming to catch something bigger than a crappie or a bluegill. It was early in the morning, around seven-thirty. The water still looked like glass, only gently disturbed by the slight movements of their boat. Her bright neon bobber sat still, half above the surface, half below the surface. She glanced over at her dad. His expression was completely calm, but his eyebrows were knit ever so slightly in concentration._

_Still, she could see the dark circles around his eyes. He had a three-day-old stubble that was pure salt-and-pepper. More salt than she'd ever seen on him. Although he looked more distinguished as a dad than ever, she could tell he wasn't sleeping properly. Then again, she wasn't either. It wasn't every day that you find out your dad isn't really your dad._

_Knowing better, she turned her attention back to her bobber, still sitting contently on the surface of the water. No disturbances. But even as she thought it, there was a tiny tug on the line. Regan's heart gave a funny little punch to her ribs in excitement. Her fingers brushed the reel of her line as she watched it like a hawk. All in a second, the bobber disappeared beneath the surface and Regan jerked on her pole, smirking cockily as she felt the resistance, meaning she'd hooked something._

_She kept her left hand firmly on her pole, pushing the end of it against her hips for leverage. He other hand worked her reel, making sure she didn't pull so hard as to snap her line. The unlucky fish came close enough to the surface to be identified as a perch. Yellow and black stripes flashed in the murky waters. You better not've swallowed it, you fucker, she thought as she reeled it in to the side of the boat, leaned over, and grabbed the fishing line to pull it up._

_"Perch," she said quietly. It was still early morning fishing. No need to scream about a ordinary perch._

_Her dad looked over, squinting to see before he remembered that his glasses were on his baseball cap. He put them on and grinned, nodding. "Nice size, too," he noted. "Wanna keep it?"_

_"We still have those fish in the basket at the pier," she pointed out, shrugging. "This buddy can go back home." She set her rod down and carefully wrapped her hand around the perch, then angled the hook out of its mouth without causing too much damage._

_"Give it a kiss," her dad reminded her, turning his attention back to his own line._

_She giggled and made a face as she very briefly pressed her lips to the perch's. "Ew!" She slipped it out of her hand and back into the water. "Ew."_

_"It's a tradition." He reeled his line in. "I'm not getting anything. Wanna head back? The twins are gonna be upset if they don't wake up to pancakes."_

_"Sure thing, Dad. Keep casting. I'll just use the tilling motor to get us back." The house was just across the way, only about a two minute trip on the small motor. She moved to the front of the boat and stuck it int he water, sitting in the front chair and using the foot paddle to drive. Her dad moved to the back of the boat, simply standing and casting off the back. The only sound coming from anywhere was the little motor putting them home._

_The lake house wasn't anything fancy. Just a small, two story cabin with slightly less-than-adequate winter insulation. Regan's favorite part about it was the wood stove in the room next to hers. She could easily sleep without pants at any time during the year. Holland had the upstairs bedroom next to their parents', and Hallie took the little sun room in the summer. Regan had the main floor bedroom, which was about as big as a small walk in closet, and the bed was ungodly tiny, but she didn't mind. She spent most of her time outdoors anyway._

_She pulled up the tilling motor and let the slow momentum carry them right into the boat launch. She stood up and used the canopy to pull it in further. Her dad hopped out onto the pier and cranked the frame up. Regan hopped out as well, yawning widely. "Tired?" her dad asked._

_"A bit," she admitted, "but there's a ton of Red Bull in the garage fridge, so I'll be okay. They made their way back to the house. The twins were still asleep as far as they could tell, so they started on making breakfast. "I know you took us out here to talk about it, Dad," Regan said as she mixed the pancake batter. "And sorry for being selfish, but I want to talk about it with you without the twins here."_

_Her father sighed and folded his arms, keeping his eyes on the pan on the stove. "Okay," he said simply. "What do you wanna talk about?"_

_Regan frowned as a twinge of annoyance clenched her jaw. "How about the fact that I found my birth certificate and your name was definitely not on the 'Father' line?" The bluntness of her voice seemed to drop the temperature of the room a couple of degrees. "Look, Dad, I just wanna know the truth. Are you gonna make me play Twenty Questions?" She sighed when he didn't respond, or move, for that matter. "Are you my biological father?"_

_"No," he answered without hesitating._

_"Why not?" The question seemed to break him. She could see the pain in his eyes. "Did Mom cheat on you?"_

_Silence._

_"Who's Ray Denham?"_

_More silence._

_"Dad, either you answer these questions, or you're making these pancakes by yourself."_

_"The pan's hot enough."_

_"Jesus Christ," she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. He grabbed the bowl of batter from in front of her and poured some in the pan. "You forgot the spray."_

_"It's a non-stick pan." She pinched her nose harder, scowling at the ground. "Ray Denham was with your mother before me," he said. "She met him when she was working in Hawaii. He was arrested for vehicular manslaughter. Drunk driving. Hit a sedan head on with his truck. Killed three college boys. He's serving a life sentence. He was also known by the local cops for how many people called in to report domestic violence suspicions. And...confirmation of those calls."_

_Regan was expecting herself to scream, shout, or at least feel her heart hammer away at her ribs like it was playing the bongos or something. Instead, there was nothing. She felt fine. Besides the screaming in her head, she was fine. Then again, hearing voices isn't the best thing in the world. Focus, Regan, you're learning about your bio dad for fuck's sake._

_"You were about three months old when I met your mother. I was your pediatrician, remember?" She nodded. "You were two when we got married."_

_"But I don't remember a wedding," she interjected._

_Her dad scoffed. "You were two. And we got married in a courthouse, not a church or anything. Just a handful of our friends to serve as witnesses." He flipped the pancake. The aroma it was giving off was nearly mouth-watering, but she wasn't concerned with the food at the moment. Her dad looked at her. "You're my daughter. Blood doesn't mean a damn to me. I love you just as much as I love Hallie or Holland."_

_That was it. There it was. There wasn't a whole lot else to say. He was her father. She was his daughter. They were family. She smiled, barely, and moved to his side, bumping her hip against his roughly to get him to move over so she could manage the pancakes. He chuckled quietly and leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms._

_"Love you too, Dad," Regan Galloway said, setting the pancake aside on a plate. "And I am going to fucking destroy you when we get out the inner tubes later. Hallie drives that boat like a maniac."_

_James Galloway, her father, threw his head back, laughing. "Battle on the high seas. I like it. You're on, Re."_

\---

"Oh, that doesn't sound good," Hawke muttered as he peeked around the archway. Regan stood right behind him. She could feel her instincts boiling just beneath her skin, itching to be used. She drew her sword slowly, quietly, gripping it tightly. Alistair stood just across from them, glaring down the walkway towards the obvious clamor. The air vibrated with magic, but not the innocent, tingly kind Regan liked to watch. It felt more like when sand was kicked up by the wind and stung her skin. It felt like when she had a sore throat and couldn't eat, breathe, or swallow properly. It was angry and resentful.

"Are we making a plan or running in like-"

"Those are Wardens," Alistair interrupted. "I can sense them."

"And  _I_ can sense that's blood magic," Hawke nearly growled. "And  _not_ the good kind."

"There's a good kind?" Regan asked. She shook her head. "Nevermind. I'm taking point." She tread carefully out from cover and smoothly made her way up to the peak of the tower. The sight before her certainly put a furrow in her brow.

Six or seven Wardens lay dead on the ground in pools of blood. Three alive Wardens stood side by side with three demons. One Warden glanced around nervously. Fear was stricken across his face. One of the three Wardens approached him. His back was unnaturally straight, his stride far too accurate for a person. Alistair, Hawke, and herself stayed low to the ground on the stairs, right out of sight. 

A man stood at the top of the stairs above the Wardens. Regan made a face when she saw him. He had a long hook nose that made her think of Professor Snape, an almost handlebar mustache, and the ugliest triangle of a goatee she'd ever seen, all surrounded by a dark stubble, making the whole look worse. The thing that she noted was that he wasn't wearing the shining silverite Warden armor like the others.

"He's not a Warden," Alistair practically snarled, confirming her thoughts.

"Warden-Commander Clarel's orders were clear," the man declared.

"This is wrong!" the frightened Warden cried. 

"Remember your oath: In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death..."

"Sacrifice," Alistair finished, leaping to his feet and charging in, sword and shield at the ready.

"Oh, fuck me," Hawke muttered, going after him, brandishing his staff. The hounds followed them both.

"I thought I had point," Regan sighed, dragging a hand down her face, but following as well.

Their abrupt entrance didn't hinder the entranced Warden, drawing a knife and thrusting it deeply into the abdomen of his scared comrade. The man gasped sharply, paused, and fell to his knees, blood pooling at his feet. The hairs on the back of Regan's neck bristled as a rage demon clawed its way into the world, hissing and spitting.

"Good," the man crooned. "Now bind it, just as I showed you." The Warden turned to the demon and raised his hand, calling forth a spell. The demon flinched violently. The man waved his hand, and the Warden's eyes glowed a vibrant red. He stood aside, clearing the line of sight between the two parties. "This is an unexpected pleasure," the man continued. "Lord Livius Erimond, at your service." He gave a frivolous bow.

_"Regan!"_

Her heart stopped. It fucking exploded. Her eyes went wide as she looked around more, spotting a flash of red that she recognized all too well.

"Hallie!" she returned. Her baby sister was tied up and tucked to the side, sitting next to another Warden. Her bright green eyes were a welcome sight after staring at sand for hours upon hours. As much as she wanted to run over, untie her sister, and hightail it out of the Approach, she kept her feet firmly planted, knowing better. She was a soldier.

"Stroud?" Alistair chimed in, identifying him.

"This is just a big mess, isn't it?" Hawke sighed, shaking his head.

"You're the one Clarel let slip," Erimond noted, pointing at Alistair. "I almost suspected you to run to the Inquisition for help. Shall we see how that goes?"

"So...what?" Regan snapped. "You kill some Wardens, spill some blood, summon some demons for...what?"

"Oh, were you hoping to garner some sympathy? Maybe make the Wardens feel a bit of remorse? Wardens! Hands up." He raised his hand, his actions mirrored by the Wardens. "Hands down." He put his hand down. They copied.

"Corypheus has taken their minds," Alistair told them. His mabari, Ruby, growled at his side, half crouched and ready for action. 

"They did this to themselves," Erimond clarified. "You see, the Calling had the Wardens terrified. They looked  _everywhere_ for help.

"Even Tevinter."

"Yes. And since it was my  _master_ who put the Calling in their little heads, we in the Venatori were prepared. I went to Clarel, full of sympathy. And together we came up with a plan. Raise a demon army, march into the Deep Roads, and kill the Old Gods before they wake. Sadly for the Wardens, the binding ritual I taught their mages has a side effect. They're now my master's slaves."

"This was a test," he continued. "Once the rest of the Wardens complete the ritual, the army will conquer Thedas."

"So Corypheus influenced the Wardens and made them do this ritual?" Regan asked, hoping the answer was "yes".

Erimond gave a curt laugh. "Made them? No. Everything you see here? The blood sacrifices to bind the demons? The Wardens did it of their own free will. Fear is a very good motivator, and they were very afraid. The Grey Wardens care about nothing save stopping Blights. They will do  _anything_ to accomplish that. You should have seen Clarel agonize over the decision. Burdens of command, I suppose."

"Do you really want to see the world fall to a Blight? What do you get out of this?"

"The Elder One commands the Blight. He is not commanded  _by it,_ like the mindless darkspawn. The Blight is not unstoppable, nor uncontrollable. It is simply a tool."

A crossbow bolt sprouted from the wall behind Erimond, making him jump. They all stared at it, even the entranced Wardens.

"Someone's certainly a tool," a gruff voice pointed out. The three of them practically spun on their heels to turn and see Varric reloading Bianca, backed by Bull, Cole, and the Inquisitor herself. Regan bit her tongue to keep from smirking at the red line of sunburn across her face, proving a strange contrast of color with her  _vallaslin._ "Good to see you guys alive," Varric commented.

"Might wanna check that in five minutes," Hawke countered, grinning. "But nice to see you guys caught up to us."

"Inquisitor!" Erimond cried. "What a pleasure to meet you in person! I'm afraid you missed a majority of the content!"

"I've gathered enough," she said coolly. "Don't let me stop you."

"If you insist." He took a breath, grinning in a way that Regan hated. "Well, as for me: the Elder One rules from the Golden City, we, the Venatori will be his god-kings here in this world."

"Release the Wardens and surrender," Inquisitor Lavellan commanded. "I won't ask twice."

"No. You won't." He raised his hand, some form of red, wispy magic swirling around his hand and arm. Lavellan gasped, the Anchor flaring violently. She gripped her wrist and growled through grit teeth. Bull heaved his massive axe from his shoulder to his hand. Cole gripped his daggers more tightly. The hounds growled in unison. "The Elder One showed me how to deal with you. In the event you were foolish enough to intervene again." She let out a sharp yelp and dropped to her knees. 

"That mark you bear? The Anchor that lets you pass safely through the Veil? You stole that from my master. He's been forced to seek other ways to access the Fade. When I bring him your head, his gratitude will be-"

Inquisitor Lavellan struggled to her feet, snapping her arm back like she was jerking on a rope. The magic connecting the two mages popped with the volume of a firework. Erimond was thrown back, slamming into the wall behind him. He groaned loudly and rolled to his knees, holding his side.

"Kill them!" he shouted.

The demons screeched. The Wardens drew their weapons. The Inquisition's team of eight formed up and set to work. Six mindless slaves, even if three of them were demons and the other three mages, they weren't exactly a formidable force against eight of some  _really good_ fighters. They slashed through them with ease. Blood was spilled. The demons screamed out of existence. Soon, all that was left to hear were the sands blowing by in the wind. 

"Hal!" Regan shouted, rushing over to her sister and cutting her hands free. They were a flurry of arms and hands as they embraced tightly. She cradled the back of Hallie's head with one hand, thanking whatever god might exist with every fiber of her being. Tears streamed freely down her face as she clung to Hallie. "You are  _the_ sight for the sorest eyes, you know that?" she gasped. She felt something gently poking her in her cheek and she turned her head to see. "Jesus Christ, what are these?" she laughed, tugging on a pointed ear. "You're an elf?" she asked in a whisper so she wouldn't sound like a fucking idiot in front of everyone.

"This world has a funny way of showing we've got different dads," she chuckled blearily. "You're actually here, right? You're not a demon in the body of my older sister."

"When you were six, I hid one of Dad's hunting walkie-talkies under the bunk bed you shared with Holland and pretended to be the monster under the bed with the other one."

She laughed. "Alright, that's fair." She sighed. "Thanks for getting my message."

"You had to choose the hardest way for me to figure them out, didn't you? First you use military land navigation points, then you throw the tap code at me..." She cradled her sister's face and scowled. "I hate you." She pulled her little sister to her feet. "Fucking hell, you've gotten thin," she breathed, desperate to get a good look at her sister. Her cheeks were a little more shallow than she remembered. Her shoulders looked slimmer and her clothes were baggy from unfilled space. She was wearing her Warrior Dash t-shirt from 2018, the one she'd cut a wider collar on with a pair of scissors. One side hung low enough to bare her shoulder. 

Despite all that didn't look quite right about her baby sister, Regan couldn't be happier as she kept a firm hand on her shoulder. She hugged her again, holding her as close as she could. "Thanks for scaring the piss outta me, Hal," she sighed into her red hair.

"Anytime," she responded in a giggle, digging her fingers into Regan's back. 

"They refused to listen to reason," Hawke snapped.

"You were right," Alistair said, cutting the ropes off of the remaining Warden, Stroud. "The mages are slaves to Corypheus."

"What a waste."

"Human sacrifice, demons..." The Inquisitor let out a frustrated sigh. "Who looks at this and thinks it's a good idea?"

"The fearful and the foolish."

"The Wardens were wrong, Hawke, but they had their reasons," Alistair protested. 

Hawke crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. "All blood mages do. Everyone has a story they tell themselves to justify bad decisions. It never matters." He lowered his voice. "In the end, you're always alone in your actions."

"I believe I know where the Wardens are, Your Worship," Stroud spoke up, jerking his head toward the west. "Erimond fled in that direction. There's an abandoned Warden fortress that way. Adamant."

"Guess they didn't want to summon a demon army out in public," Varric joked. 

Hawke tapped Stroud's arm with the back of his hand. "How do you feel about a little scouting? Confirm all this nonsense? Feel up to it?" The Warden nodded. "We'll meet you back at Skyhold while we check out Adamant."

Adamant. The word hung heavy in the air. Regan didn't know a lot about the fortress, but she knew enough to see what a pain in their asses it was going to be. Especially for the Inquisitor. For the millionth time, she found herself grateful she didn't hold such a weighty title. She could only begin to imagine the mountains of stress Lavellan had to bear. Hallie bumped against Regan, letting out a little gasp. 

"You okay?" Regan asked, holding her up.

"Fairing to middling," she sighed.

"You need food, water, and rest."

"I'll take fifty chicken nuggets if you go 'em."

Regan sighed wistfully. "God, I wish."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone has any ideas for potential memories or dreams for Regan, feel free to message me! I'd love to get some outside influence in this potluck!


	10. tell me what you see, love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regan gets a little downtime at Skyhold and Lyanna talks with a few of her companions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little bit of a longer one than usual, because I'm a slut for fluff.

Regan loved Skyhold at night. It gave her a chance to enjoy the quiet after the riffraff wandered off to bed. Or the tavern. Some sort of clamor could always be heard coming from the Herald's Rest. She liked to walk the battlements, hands deep in her pockets, staying warm, but with her eyes on the sky. When the winds were soft and the silence was almost complete, the stars sang. There were more dots of silver in Thedas' sky than she could've ever even  _hoped_ to see back home. Satina and Idriel stole her breath away every time she saw them. 

Of the thousand and one things she loved about Thedas, the sky was number one.

The things she loved far outweighed what she missed. Sure, she missed hot showers and Netflix and her music and going out to breakfast every other Saturday morning with her dad and getting smoothies with Natalie after they went to the gym and a billion other things she would probably never see again. And yet, she never felt more free. Never felt so light and aloof without the burdens of society to wear her down. There were no bills to pay, no statuses to update, no new and amazing show to binge watch until she couldn't keep her eyes open.

She couldn't be happier. She had her dog. She had her sister. She could faithfully rely on her skills and instincts to see her through her troubles. And, despite... _literally everything..._ she had a man in her sights. After all those years of sticking to her guns and just being content with what she had, she was far more than relieved to find that she wanted  _more._ Someone to stand beside her, to lift that tire of life with her. Lift it, flip it over and stand above, triumphant for a mere second before doing it again. And again, and again, and again. Moving that tire was the game of life. That's all it was. She used to tell herself that for years. Especially when it got bad. 

_Just lift the tire,_ she'd think, staring at her ceiling after the nightmares stopped.  _Lift the fucking tire. And keep lifting it until your arms give out. Until your legs can't straighten up and your back cracks in half. Lift that fucking tire._

Her nightmares had taken a vacation, it seemed. New ones had replaced some of them. Instead of a gun to her face, it was a sword. Instead of lying in the field hospital, bleeding to death, she was in an open field, lying beside some red templar or Venatori whose name she would never know, feeling the life slip from her fingers like sand. Amria was the only part of her old nightmares that continued. Amira with her bright eyes and lazy waving dark hair and laughter that could shine brighter than the desert sun.

Regan let out a healthy sigh and hopped up on one of the ramparts, crossing her ankles and staring out across the valley. Despite it all, she was happy. For once.

"Is this where you come to brood?" Hallie asked, wandering up. She too had her hands in her pockets. And a slight grin on her face, Regan noticed. "You're not wearing the proper brooding face. You need more brow and jawline." She hopped up to sit on the rampart next to Regan.

"It's where I come for some peace and quiet," she responded with a laugh. "But I'll allow your presence this one time, citizen." Hallie nearly snorted. "How are you doing? Got your gearhead attitude back yet?"

She shrugged. "Little bit. Fifty percent." She tossed her hair over her shoulder. "It's definitely good to have some decent food. There wasn't a whole lot Stroud could do for the both of us, especially once we got close to the Approach."

"What exactly were you doing with a Grey Warden in the middle of the Western Approach?"

"Well, we weren't always in the Approach," she explained. "Stroud was the first to find me after...you know..." She took a breath. "It all happened so fast, you know? There were a group of...bandits, maybe. I guess I sounded a little too Fereldan. They didn't like that." Her eyes were far away, definitely not looking east towards Ferelden herself. "Stroud threw a knife. Turned a guy's neck into a goddamn bubbler with too much pressure in the pipes. He dropped a bow and I just grabbed it. Wasn't any thought to it. Pulled the arrows from the quiver and just...shot." She grinned. "I'm a pretty good shot. Like  _too_ good. I haven't held a bow since the ninth grade."

"I haven't fenced since before I lost my leg," Regan added. "But I'm still damn good with sword, as it turns out. Stranger things have happened than suddenly maxing out a particular skill we haven't touched in years."

"Like what?!" she snapped. She immediately grimaced and held up a finger. "Nope. Nope. Got it. I'm a dumbass. Moving on." She straightened her back and tucked her hair behind her ears. Her pointed ears. 

_Still freaking me out,_ Regan laughed inwardly.  _My sister's an elf._ "Strange few months, huh?" she sighed. "One day, you're waiting for the final  _Game of Thrones_ season, and the next you're just killing some people. Maybe doing some hunting. Camping in the woods."

"Watching demons be summoned," Hallie pointed out. "Man, the finale was..." She closed her eyes and let her head drop back. "Ooh, mama! I spit Diet Coke all over the back of Natalie's head."

Regan frowned. "Wait, what?" she quipped. "The...finale? You've seen it?" Hallie nodded. "How?"

Hallie mirrored her frown. "Because it premiered on April fourteenth, last year."

Regan closed her eyes and cocked her head to the side. Her brain was doing that "hit a brick wall with a fist until it makes a hole" thing.  _Okay, okay, just...breathe, Regan. Breathe. Ask the sixty-four-million-dollar question._ "Hallie. Listen to me very,  _very_ carefully. Don't ask why, just answer the question in a single, coherent sentence. Deal?" She nodded. "How long have I been gone?"

Time stopped with such a loud silence that she almost didn't hear her sister's response.

"'Bout thirteen months. Maybe more. Probably more."

Regan made a face and nodded. "Okay. That's fine. It's fine." She planted her elbows on her knees and buried her face in her hands. "Jesus Christ..." she breathed, feeling a chill spike down her spine.

"What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing," she responded sarcastically. "Absolutely nothing at all. Nope. Just fine. 'Cept maybe the fact that  _I_ haven't been gone a year. Just those couple of months." She took a deep breath. "You're telling me it's 2020 back home?!" she exclaimed sharply. Hallie nodded. Regan slid down from her perch and, with a groan, laid flat on the battlements, pressing her palms over her eyes. "That's fine. I didn't wanna see the next presidential election anyway. Or watch the ball drop. Or find out who sits on the  _Iron-fucking-Throne!"_ She rolled on her front and made a noise between a cry and a moan. Hallie laughed. "How are you taking this so well?" Regan mumbled to the flagstones.

"I lived that year, Re," she sighed, lying down beside her. "Want me to fill you in?"

She was about to snap "yes" without any hesitation. But she stopped herself. Surely hearing about the thirteen missed months wouldn't change her in any way? But there were words like "what" and "if" and she especially hated when they joined forces to become a "what if." Regan hated "what ifs." All they did was cause her anxiety and hound her sleep. She didn't want any more useless "what ifs."

"Nope," she finally sighed. "But I  _do_ want to hear about  _Game of Thrones."_

Hallie laughed wickedly. "Buckle up, bitch, this is gonna be a ride!"

\---

"My dear, you look terribly bored." All Lyanna gave Dorian was a flick of her eyes before sighing and returning her gaze to her book. "And you look exhausted."

"Maybe it's because I  _am_ exhausted," she countered.

Dorian shut his dusty tome and steepled his hands. "Is it the Anchor?" She nodded, sinking lower into the plush armchair, already feeling the hands of sleep caressing her eyes. She wanted to crawl back into her bed and sleep until Corypheus knocked on her door. "Why don't you talk to Solas?" he asked.

"Because Solas will just tell me some 'Fade expert' crap about keeping my emotions calm while I'm sleeping and maybe something about managing my stress levels," she grumbled, careful to keep her voice quiet enough so that Solas himself wouldn't hear her down on the ground floor of the rotunda. "I'm gonna throw him to the nobles and see how he likes being picked apart and verbally prodded like I'm some-"

"Okay, okay," Dorian stopped her, holding his hands up in surrender. "I get it, Miss Grumpy Lavellan." He set his book aside and sighed as well. "Have you considered talking to anyone else?"

"I'm talking to you." Dorian rolled his eyes. "Well, okay, Mr. 'I'm From Tevinter But I Love Ferelden Beer', I'm all ears on who else I should talk to."

He paused in thought. "I might suggest the Commander, but we all know he'd rather forget about why he doesn't sleep well."

Lyanna sat up. "What do you mean? Does it have to do with the fact that he doesn't take lyrium anymore?" Dorian nodded. "Well, now I want to talk about it!"

"It's better if you don't," Dorian assured her. "Templars are stubborn, but Cullen took it to a whole new level. Besides...he already has a woman doting after him." Lyanna raised an eyebrow at him, calling his bluff. "You didn't hear?" She motioned for him to just tell her already.  _Is this what the Orlesians feel when they gossip about each other?_ she asked herself as a pang of excitement bounced through her head. "Well, I know you've heard about _Regan's_ little jog after she got her new leg, but, apparently, the real show happened on the bridge. It seems that Cullen Rutherford is quite taken with Regan Galloway."

"Shut the hell up!" she laughed. "No way!  _Regan?"_ She threw her head back and laughed harder. "Oh!" She sighed and slouched again. "That's hilarious! Cullen and Regan! Ha!"

"Glad you're so tickled about it," Dorian said, rolling his eyes again. "You should be happy your Commander has found some peace in these rather shitty times."

"I am!" she insisted. "Really! And I'm happy for Regan too! I just..." She struggled to think of the right words. "They're almost too alike for each other. I'm surprised their personalities haven't butted heads yet like he often does with Cassandra."

"What about butting heads?" Varric said, coming around the corner suddenly, startling her. She cursed at him in elvhen, making him laugh. "What rumors are you spreading about the Seeker, Sparkler?"

"You want an instigator, I suggest you talk to Sera," he responded. "And I'm not saying anything that isn't true." Lyanna nodded in agreement. "Wait a minute... Why don't you strike up a conversation with her?"

"Cassandra?" Lyanna said. "Strike up a conversation about...feelings?"

"Just because she wields her sword and shield with the stubbornness of a bronto," Varric started, crossing his arms, "the Seeker would be  _far_ from the worst person to talk to about that stuff." With one look at Dorian, Lyanna knew he was giving the same face to Varric she was. "What?" The two looked at each other as if to silently confirm they both heard the same thing. It wasn't so much as the whole "Cassandra" and "feelings" aspect, but the fact that Varric defended her where the opening to tease lightly was as wide as the gates of Skyhold. He  _always_ poked harmless fun at their resident Seeker of Truth. 

_I'll have to remind myself to pry at Hawke when he gets back,_ Lyanna reminded herself. "Anyway..." she trailed off, hoping to steer the conversation elsewhere. 

"I meant Regan," Dorian jumped in again. "She's a soldier, and you're soldiering through all this Inquisition business. She might be able to help."

"She certainly has some interesting stories," Varric agreed. "And she's a fantastic writer. I think she draws, too."

"Are you kidding?" Lyanna asked, surprised.

Varric shook his head. "She studied the arts, remember, Pear? She can do everything,  _including_ kicking ass as a side hobby. I agree with Sparkler, here. You should go to her if you want to just forget about some of this nonsense for a while. She can help you out. I think she's with her sister down in her room."

"Okay, okay," she sighed, getting up. "Might as well use my one free day wisely, shouldn't I?" She brushed off her pants and waved goodbye to her friends, making her way through the rotunda. Just as she was about to head down the stairs, she paused, one hand on the railing. She turned on her feet and made her way upstairs instead to the rookery. She was glad when she spotted Leliana's telltale red hair when she crested the stairs. Her Spymaster was feeding her ravens corn bits from her own hand, a tiny smile on her face. "Leliana?" she said, announcing her presence.

"I agree with Varric and Dorian," she said right away, smirking at her.

Lyanna made a frustrated noise. "I hate how sound travels so well in this damn rotunda."

"It travels better up than down, my friend. And I trained for years on how to listen properly. So, why are you up here instead of with Miss Galloway?"

She sat down in a nearby chair and pushed her blonde hair out of her face. "Two things, actually, if you've got the time."

"Of course."

_I should just be an adult and ask Regan the second question,_ she thought.  _But I'd rather hide behind my intimidating, Blight-veteran Spymaster instead. Ferocious Inquisitor indeed._ "Do you trust Regan?" she asked.

Leliana didn't answer right away. The raven on her arm nibbled at the cuff of her sleeve. She put it back in its cage and closed the door. "I'm not sure," she admitted. Lyanna was taken aback slightly. She'd never  _not_ gotten a straight answer from Leliana when it came to trusting people. Well, Leliana didn't trust quite a lot of people, but it was her job to be suspicious of people. "Regan is a capable fighter. She has the stamina and stubbornness of a warrior but carries herself like a ranger. I've no doubt she's hiding a great deal of things, but seemingly nothing that would impair her work for the Inquisition." Leliana clasped her hands together. "And yet, she risked Hawke and Alistair on a suicide mission to save her sister."

"She risked her own life, Leliana," Lyanna pointed out. "I know how much Hawke and Alistair mean to us, but it's not like she forced them to go with her They volunteered."

"Still. You were leaving for the Approach the very next day. Would you have gone with her had she asked?"

Lyanna opened her mouth to say yes, but she stopped herself, thinking. She smirked bitterly. "Regan wouldn't have asked," she said. "It's like Dorian said. She's a soldier. She understands how the chain of command works. She probably figured I would have said no, so she planned to go alone. But then Hawke and Alistair stepped in." Leliana waited. "If I wasn't the Inquisitor, I would've gone with her the second she asked. But...my answer would've been no." Leliana gave her a nod. "But I have to admire her tenacity. She was ready to tear Erimond in half by the time we showed up." She frowned. "It was strange. Like it wasn't Regan standing there. She was someone else in her body, violent like lightning but just... _murderous._ _"_ She glanced at Leliana. "Does that make sense?"

"Absolutely," Leliana answered firmly. "And the other topic you wished to discuss?"

Lyanna couldn't help but giggle. "Is it true? About Regan and Cullen?" Leliana shielded a gentle laugh behind her hand. It was a rare sound to hear around Skyhold, Leliana's laugh. Unless, of course, Cullen was being relentlessly teased by her and Josephine at the war table.

"I believe Dorian's words may have some merit," she alluded. "It seems to be that they solved the second cipher while spending time together."

"She's learning to play chess for him!" Dorian's voice shouted up from below. Lyanna burst out laughing. "She's _damn_ good, too!"

"I'm never having a conversation in this room ever again!" she wheezed. She got to her feet and sighed contentedly, running a hand through her hair again. "Thanks for the laughs, Leliana. I should go talk to Regan herself and get her to weigh in on all of this."

Regan's quarters were down near the kitchens. She'd mentioned several times how she'd pop in to grab food late at night when she couldn't sleep. She had even mentioned going in and helping the cooks from time to time. Regan liked to be out and about during the day, but once she turned in for the night, it would take a damn dragon to attacking the castle to get her to get her to come out again. She could fall asleep anywhere, but woke up as fast as a whip cracked. Hallie had been set up just across the hall from her so the two could be close. Knocking on the door, Lyanna was surprised when Hallie herself opened the door quietly.

"Inquisitor!" she exclaimed in a whisper, her pale, freckled cheeks pinking. "I'm sorry, I just-" She stopped herself and took a breath. "Regan's just dozed off, but if you need to talk to her-" Lyanna held a hand up, about to say that she could come back later, but Hallie waved her own hand. "No, she'd want to talk to you. She hates sleeping through things." She retreated back into the darkened room, leaving the door open. Lyanna heard her softly snap, "Regan, wake the fuck up," and couldn't help the snicker that escaped her mouth. She heard Regan take a deep breath.

"Is something on fire?" she mumbled.

"No, but-"

"Am I dying?"

Lyanna was trying  _really hard_ not to laugh too loud.

"No, Re, but I"m deadass serious when I say the Inquisitor's here to talk to you. And you're not even wearing pants!"

"It's Friday! Haven't you heard about Bull's routine on Fridays?"

"I swear to god, Regan, I'll toss you out there buck-ass nude if you don't get up."

_Is this what it's like to have and be a sister?_ Lyanna wondered. She was highly amused by the sheer vulgarity they tossed between each other as easily as any other topic of conversation. Regan emerged from the room, tying the laces to her breeches, yawning widely. Her torso was bare except for her breastband. Lyanna tried not to stare, but she couldn't help but sneak a look at her tattoos. She glanced back and caught a thick article of clothing from Hallie, pulling it over her head with ease. It was rough grey color and a little baggy around her arms. Seemingly painted on the front read "Grafton Track and Field" and a shoe with wings beneath the words. Regan rolled the sleeves up to her elbows and yawned again.

"Sorry 'bout that," she mumbled. "Rough night. You know how it is," she added as they started walking.

"Yes, I do," she said solemnly. "I've thought about filling the Skyhold gardens with herbs and maybe some vegetables. I thought it might help some people in some way, I don't know. Maybe I just want somewhere to go at night to keep my mind off things."

"Makes you feel more at home? Closer to your clan?"

Lyanna smiled and nodded. "Yeah," she sighed. "All these stone walls can feel kind of suffocating from time to time."

"I think that's brilliant," Regan said, grinning. "Hell, I'd love it. My grandmother used to have this massive garden, yeah? She lived on a lake so she had plenty of room to work with. Most people were concerned with having the nicely cut lawns and perfect beaches to lounge on when they vacationed up there. Not my grandma. She had square after square of the softest dirt and the most beautiful flowers and most awesome vegetables. The flowers were divided into annuals and perennials. The vegetables put in neat rows with these little signs telling what was what." She looked at her. "Can I help?" she asked brightly. "Plant things, take care of them?"

"Of course!" Lyanna insisted. "Do you have any suggestions on what we should plant?"

"Elfroot," Regan responded immediately. "Unless I'm mistaken, elfroot is used in every healing poultice we need. Unless you want to run through the Hinterlands every few months, plucking every single bit of it in between the bears, I suggest elfroot."

"Fair enough. Anything else? Or are we just going to wade through a sea of elfroot?"

"Wanna make a list? Pool some suggestions and make a plan?" Lyanna nodded and agreed it sounded good. Regan clapped her hands together and smiled. "I can't wait. I loved my garden back home. Nowhere near as impressive as Grandma Ellen's, but it gave me something to keep me occupied when I wasn't working."

"What  _did_ you do?" Lyanna asked. "I mean...I don't know a whole lot about you, honestly. Varric says you write?"

Regan nodded passively. "I went to school to teach music eventually, but I didn't really have the social skills for it. And I'm stubborn. And I'm not the biggest fan of kids." She shrugged. Her bangs were rustled by the wind blowing through them. Skyhold moved around them steadily as their stroll took them to the battlements. "Took up writing. One of my instructors was a friend of my dad's, and we went out for coffee a lot, and my work just kind of...popped up. I finished up my degree, then made it to the bestseller list a year later. The army paid for my schooling so..." She shrugged again. "Everything just kind of worked itself out."

"What was it about? Your book?"

"It was a crime serial. A trilogy. Noir style. Sort of old-fashioned for my world," she explained at Lyanna's confused look. "Lone detectives who smoke, drink, and do anything to get the job done." She giggled. "Sort of like Varric's  _Hard in Hightown."_  

Lyanna snickered. "You two will have plenty to talk about, then!"

"We have," Regan sighed softly. "It's funny..." She waved a hand. "Ah, nevermind."

"What?"

The dark-haired woman made a face, squaring her jaw for a fraction of a second. Her ocean blue eyes flickered with a twinge of sadness. "It's funny, but Varric is the one person here, that reminds me of my home. He's just like my dad, actually. Charismatic, funny, kind...and a little sad." She scoffed. "The only thing he's missing is a salt-and-pepper beard and dark hair. Then he'd literally be just like my dad. Just two feet shorter." They shared a chuckle. 

"Can I ask you something?" Lyanna blurted out suddenly.

"You just did," Regan replied pointedly, throwing her a smirk and a wink. "Sure, of course. Go ahead."

"Is it true about you and-"

"Inquisitor!" a familiar, baritone voice called. Cullen signed a sheet of paper and handed it to the messenger, who left with a curt nod and salute, jogging off. Cullen ran a gloved hand through his hair and approached them. "Hi, uh, Regan," he added hesitantly. 

"Hi, Cullen," she responded far easier than he greeted her. "I'll leave you two to talk." She gave a nod of farewell and turned to wander off back to her room, hands stuck in the pouchy pocket of her strange jacket.

"Your office, Commander?" Lyanna suggested, nodding to his tower just down the way. He agreed and rubbed the back of his neck. A habit he seemed to carry with him everywhere, she noted, starting towards the tower, but stopped when he didn't follow.

"Actually, I...um..." Cullen jogged to catch up to Regan, saying something to her. She grinned and got up on her tiptoes to kiss him on his cheek, nodding. She kept going on her way and Cullen walked back over to Lyanna, his face noticeably pink. She fought off a grin as they continued on towards his tower. 

_At least someone's love life is interesting,_ she mused.

\---

"Jesus Christ, girl, your hands are freezing!" Hallie exclaimed sharply as Regan pressed her fingers to the back of her neck to scare her. "Fuck you!"

Regan was laughing, rubbing her hands together. "I was out in the gardens, checking out what work needed to be done. Soil out there is amazing. Dark and thick, definitely great for the stuff the Inquisitor'll plant. Smelled great, too." She pulled on her midnight blue jacket, loving the weight it carried down with the bases.

"You smelled the soil?"

She shrugged. "You're telling me you don't miss the smell of our grandma's gardens?"

Hallie made a face that gave Regan some credit. "Where are you going, down to the tavern?" Regan chose not to respond, thinking of what would be the easiest thing to say that wouldn't fuel a few  _years_ of teasing. "Your ears are getting red, Re. What are you up to?"

Regan bit her lip, still thinking. She shrugged and just spat out, "I'm going to spend time with Commander Cullen." Her sister's jaw dropped, the corners of her mouth lilted up in a knowing smile. "It's not like that!" Regan insisted. "I'm not... And he's..." A scarlet blush was burning her cheeks. "We've kissed, like, twice. And it's not like I have the confidence to tear his pants off or anything!"  _That_ got her sister laughing. "Christ, I hate you."

Hallie covered her mouth with a hand. "I'm sorry," she apologized, sounding sincere. "You haven't been in a proper relationship since you were...what? Seventeen?"

"Eighteen," Regan corrected her swiftly.

"So ten years? So while you spending those years being a true child of the lord, I was out running a 'duvet crash course' in my bedroom." Regan snickered violently, breaking down into laughter. "I mean, a sister knows what a sister wants," Hallie added with a smirk and a shrug. "You're my older sister, so I trust you to know what you want. Go spend some time with your Commander. Don't forget to leave six inches for Jesus." She shielded her face as Regan tried to smack her, cackling still as Regan just sighed and left.

_The things I put up with for the sake of family,_ she thought as she closed the door, rolling her eyes. She'd had a billion nervous thoughts race through her mind when Cullen had asked her to come by his office later. Chief amongst them were: what she should wear, should she do anything to her hair, and what exactly where they going to do? It's not like they could just hop in a car and go out for noodles like she'd done in her last real relationship. Which was, in fact, ten years ago, as Hallie was so gracious to remind her of. She'd just never found someone she felt was worthy of her attention and able to carry the baggage she came with. It was obvious to say that most guys preferred women with two good looking legs instead of just one. They would prefer someone who could wear high heels or felt comfortable in a crowd or someone who didn't wake up screaming in the middle of the night. She would definitely be in the "Discounted Damaged Goods" part of the grocery store.

Skyhold was winding down. Everyone was turning in to bed, or the tavern. Regan made her way to Cullen's tower, painfully aware of the thumping in her chest.  _Is this a date?_ she asked herself, trying to ease her nerves with a deep breath of cold, mountain air. It didn't work. She was still more nervous than she ever remembered being. Even more so than the day she left for fucking basic. She'd wanted to stop the bus to throw up on the road. She'd nearly pissed herself when she heard her drill sergeant yell for the first time. Her heart was probably too tolerant of adrenaline to the point where it wouldn't give out until she was one-hundred-and-five.

She paused when she got to Cullen's door. Well, one of three of them. She rested her fingers on the rough wood, thinking. Hallie's words rang in her head.  _A sister knows what a sister wants._ She closed her eyes and frowned. Was she so sure of what she wanted?  _Well, you can't make an omelette without breaking a few eggs,_ she told herself. She knocked on the door, breaking the first egg.

"Come in!"

_Deep breath, Regan. You've done worse before._ She thought of Lake Arbutus. Her and her dad fishing. The stillness of the water. She put her hand on the handle and opened the door. Cullen was firmly seated at his desk, wading through a mountain of papers. When he saw her, he all but shot to his feet. 

"I didn't think you'd come," he admitted. "The Inquisitor mentioned you were sleeping when she went to talk to you. I thought you might be-"

"Tired?" she finished. "The army taught me to fall asleep anytime, anywhere. I once took a nap while sitting back to back with a friend of mine." She felt her blush coming back, stretching down her neck. "Um..." She shrugged. "What did you want to...do?" she asked awkwardly. Just then, a kettle over the fireplace started to whistle. Cullen took it off and poured out the water into two mugs.

"Tea?" he offered, filling the silence. 

"I'd love some," she replied, smiling as he handed her a mug. Her cold hands curled around the heat and she smelled the sweet smelling steam it gave off. She gave it a tentative sip, almost choking on it once the flavor reached through the heat. Cullen gave her a startled look, but she held up a hand. "Sorry," she giggled. "This tastes just like the tea I used to drink all the time back home." She wandered over to the fireplace, relishing in the heat and smell of the wood burning. "My dad used to find me in the kitchen after I was supposed to be in bed. He'd would sit with me and we'd just...sit. Talk. Drink tea and talk like a couple of housewives."

She pressed a hand over her eyes, scoffing. "You probably didn't want me coming here to just to ramble about my dad and what kind of teas I like."

Cullen joined her at her side. "I would like to know more about you," he said, offering a kind smile. He waved a hand toward the small sofa in front of the fire. She shrugged out of her jacket and took a seat. "Want to play our game?"

"Or we could just...talk?" she offered. "Besides, you always end up asking more than one question for your turn." He chuckled. "Soon enough I'll be able to take you on in a chess match. Dorian says I'm getting good, but I think he's only admitting that because I can catch him cheating."

"Let me know when I should prepare the board, Miss Galloway," he joked. 

_God, you're handsome!_ she wanted to shout at him. He wasn't her particular type. Her type was more like: within three inches of her height, dark hair, a little goofy, a little nerdy, and a great cuddler. She didn't know if Cullen was a great cuddler or not, but he was still good enough for her. Besides, scars were sexy, and the one that marred his lip was certainly good looking. Speaking of his lips, they were softer than she had been expecting. A little weather worn, sure, a little insistent, yes, but she was more than willing to admit that she loved it. Loved the one they shared on the bridge far more than her impulse peck in the gardens. The one on the bridge had been stupidly romantic, but she'd loved every bit about it. Especially when a wind had knocked a lock of his hair loose and revealing the curl in it.

"Regan?"

She laughed nervously. "I'm sorry," she said. "I was thinking about your hair."

He chuckled. "My...hair?"

She set her mug on an end table, empty, and reached out a hand, silently asking for permission before running the tips of her fingers through his bangs, tempting a few curls to run free. "You've got curly locks," she pointed out. He gave her a lopsided grin. "Don't worry 'Curly'. I'll keep your secret. Besides, I have a wave through my hair, but you can't really tell unless it grows out."

Cullen ran his own gloved fingers through her hair, tickling her scalp and sending the most delightful shiver down her spine. "How long has it been this short?" he asked.

"Since I was twelve. Just before summer." She motioned toward her shoulders. "Used to be down to here. Thick like a down blanket and tougher than shit to manage. I used to brush out knots every day. It took two hours and about three people to cut my hair short." Cullen laughed. She loved his laugh. "It was just easier to keep it this way when I went into the army. Except I got terrible sunburn on the back of my neck when I started up active duty."

Her heart was more at ease. She wasn't calm, not by a long shot, but at least her hands weren't shaking. Her knees, although they weren't supporting her weight, were weak. Her fingers twisted into the hem of her shirt, trying to think, trying to make sense of what was happening. They were just talking over some tea. Talking and talking about their hair. She ran a hand through her own and fought against a sigh. 

She wanted so much. It was surprising, to want. Want to hold him. Want him to hold her. She wanted to know what he felt like under his armor. She wanted to know what kind of sleeper he was. Did he sleep on his side? His back? Did he curl up like she did under a mountain of blankets? She wanted. It was so strange to want after ten years of being on the edge of 'just enough'. She was no longer content with that. She  _wanted._

Ten years was an awfully long time to be single.

_I want to kiss you,_ she thought. She couldn't help but repeat the words out loud. "I want to kiss you," she told him, taking a deep breath after. "May I?"

\---

_May I?_

Cullen was convinced he was dreaming. Surely he'd just hallucinated Regan asking if she could kiss him? Still, the heated blush across her cheeks told a bold truth. A firm burning of want seared in his chest, fueling the single syllable word that escaped past his lips.

"Please," he breathed, setting his tea aside.

She scooted closer to him tentatively, biting her bottom lip. He reached his hand out and grazed her cheek as they leaned forward toward each other. It was gentle, the first one. Just a brush of their lips. But he _wanted._ She pressed more firmly against him. He pulled her closer by her hip. Her hands gripped all over his armor and mantle. The drag of her tongue against his lips sent electricity racing straight to his knees. He wasn't sure how it happened, but she was suddenly in his lap, straddling his thighs like it was no big deal. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her even closer. A tiny, breathy sound escaped her lips that drove him wild. He could stay there all night, he decided. Just kiss her over and over and over until he couldn't recite his own name. It would be far more than he deserved, he thought, but he didn't care. She'd chosen to give him--no, _them--_ a chance.

Regan pulled back, breathing heavily as her startlingly blue eyes scanned all over his face. The corners of her swollen lips curled up into a smile. "Wow," she laughed softly. "Who knew tea could be so romantic?"

He chuckled, pulling her into one last kiss. "I swear that this wasn't my original intention," he said.

"Oh? Pray tell what you had planned."

"I didn't have a plan," he admitted with a grin. She laughed and kissed his cheek. "But I'm glad that happened."

"Good. Because kissing you until I was dizzy was _definitely_ part of my plan."


	11. start the fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regan and Hallie get approved to travel to the coast to bury a hatchet. Hawke and Stroud return from their scouting mission in the Western Approach

Hallie glanced over her shoulder, her red hair waving like a flag in the mountain wind. "Remember those nights we'd lock ourselves in your dorm room, put on a movie, and-"

"Eat white cheddar popcorn and Pop-Tarts!" Regan finished in a laugh. "We binged all eight _Harry Potter_ movies in one night. And _Lord of the Rings_ on a different weekend. Or we'd move my TV to the lounge and we'd play Skyrim side by side until the sun came up and we remembered that both sleeping and eating were things that humans needed to do." They giggled at their shared memories. "My RA thought you were just another student for _weeks."_

The footpaths they were on were too narrow and dangerous for horses, so they were on foot. The were heading for a point just west of Gherlen's Pass. What they were looking for _exactly,_ Regan didn't know. Hallie wouldn't tell her, but she seemed overly excited to get there, practically skipping down the mountain paths. Every day, she was getting back to being the enthusiastic young woman she knew her sister to be. Even so, more than once she'd woken up to Hallie tentatively asking to stay the night because she was afraid. It was a lot for her younger sister to admit she was afraid. Afraid of what, though, Regan also didn't have a clue. She knew Hallie would tell her on her own time, when she was ready.

Although her heart was practically singing from the opportunity to get out of the house and flounder around in the mountain snows for a few days, a part of her couldn't help but wish she was back at Skyhold. She was eager to help with the renovations going on. She needed some mindless work that didn't involve swinging a sword or getting thrown to the ground by one of of the Inquisitor's freakishly strong warriors she liked to keep around. Cassandra was especially unafraid to bruise her. Bull was at least _wary_ of the fact that she didn't want to spend the rest of the day limping. Or she could spend more time in the gardens, work at clearing away weeds and churning up the soil to give it some fluff and air. Floundering in dirt and grass instead of mountain snow.

_Floundering with the Commander._

A blush appeared on her cheeks as abruptly as a slap. She hadn't even gotten that far with him! She tried to shake her head of inappropriate thoughts and focused instead on Hallie's boot heels. He'd been so busy and they'd left so abruptly that neither had time to say goodbye. She could only ask Cherry to say goodbye for her, but she highly doubted her retriever was _that_ smart.

"Do you remember when we both made appointments to give blood and I fucking passed out?" Hallie asked, interrupting Regan's thoughts.

"I was glad I never saw it," she replied. "By the time I came back with the water, you were out. I'm glad you didn't hurt yourself. I thought I'd have to drive you to the hospital or do something dramatic and spontaneous." Hallie slipped on a small patch of ice and dropped to a knee with a sharp gasp. Regan offered a hand that she took and hauled her to her feet. "Don't go falling down the mountain like you're Bucky Barnes or something."

"Do you miss it?"

 _It._ Home. Their parents. Holland. There was so much to think about it two little letters. So much to say yes and no to. "Some things," she answered truthfully. "But not a lot. You?"

"No." The answer took Regan by surprise. Hallie glanced at her, probably noting her expression. "Think about it Re. What the hell were we waiting around for back home? Tax refunds? Prince or Princess Charming? The next fight between us all?" She shook her head. "I'd rather spill a little blood here, mine or not, than go back home and wait to wake up at seven to go to a job I hate."

Resting a hand on the pommel of her sword, Regan watched as Hallie looked out across the skyline of mountains. Her jaw was squared and she had a slight furrow in her brow. So often could Regan see the spark in her eyes that marked her as her little sister. And yet, in times like these, she saw someone older, someone with a few skeletons in her closet. Someone who certainly _wasn't_ her little sister.

It was better, in a way.

"Come on," Regan hummed, clapping Hallie on the back. "I wanna know what you're so eager to show me."

\---

_March 9th, 2009_

_Billy Joel's_ We Didn't Start the Fire _was blaring on the speakers of Redhead's Tavern and Grill as Regan leaned on her pool cue, watching her dad line up the cue ball with one of the striped balls, aiming for the corner pocket. She tapped the toe of her boot to the beat of the music, reciting the lyrics in her head. Her dad shot and sunk the ball like the pro he was. She smiled and gestured to her friend, Ben, to step up and make his shot._

_"Having fun?" her dad asked, taking a spot on the wall next to her, beer in hand._

_She tipped her head and took a sip of her own flavored ale. "Besides the fact that I'm absolute shit at pool," she noted, "definitely." Ben missed his shot and swore loudly. "I'm up." She grabbed the little cube of chalk and ground it a little harder than necessary on the tip of her cue to make it look like she knew what she was doing. The twelve ball sitting conveniently in front of a center pocket seemed like a good way to go. She bent over the table, careful not to nudge any of the pool balls in her way as she lined up her shot._

_The door to the bar opened, letting in a wave of afternoon sunlight in, catching her attention. Her ears went hot as she saw who it was. She fixed her eyes on the shot and tried her best not to look up again. She struck the cue ball and it clacked against the twelve ball, sinking it with a nice thunk. She pumped her fist and accepted a high-five from Ben as his own dad circled the table, looking for an opening. "Did you see who just walked in with his dad?" Ben asked her over the music._

_"How could I miss him?" she chuckled. "What do you think his opening line to me will be?"_

_"Something probably like 'Uh, hey,'" he laughed. "Or he'll just ignore you and catch you as we leave." Ben's dad cursed loudly over the music as he accidentally sunk the eight ball. "Looks like this one's over. Want to play some darts?"_

_"You're on. You get the darts. I'll set up the game." She handed her pool cue over to him to put away, grabbed her drink, and crossed the bar to the brightly lit dart boards._

Really, I shouldn't care that he's here, _she told herself._ I mean, sure, there's other bars in town, but why did he have to show up to this one? God, what if he thinks Ben and I are dating? _She made a noise and laughed to herself._ Actually, I'd love to see how he'd react. _It wasn't a strange to see a parent take their older kid to the bar. She was only nineteen, but Wisconsin law said that any underage kid above sixteen could be in a bar as long as their parent or legal guardian was with them. She felt a little out of place from time to time. Redhead's was mostly filled with middle-aged people looking for a break from their nine-to-five jobs with a good drink and a good conversation with friends._

_And she was getting annoyed with how many times she'd answered the question, "When do you leave for terrorist country?" It was a joke with good intentions, but she still felt her skin crawl every time she heard it._

_She slipped in the quarters ans grinned as the loud, punchy music of the game nearly blasted her eardrums out. Ben came by with a full bottle of beer and a second ale for her. "Thank you," she sang, finishing her first drink and popping the cap off of the second one using the edge of a nearby table. "Where's our dads?"_

_"Getting some food at the grill, I think." Ben backed up to the line and tossed a few practice darts at the other board. He kept one eye closed like he was some kind of sharpshooter. "Jack asked about you."_

_"Pussy," she muttered just loud enough for him to hear. He burst out laughing in the middle of a throw and the dart bounced off the edge. She turned around and spotted her ex sitting next to his own dad at the bar. "Hey, Jack!" she shouted. He turned around, a furious blush on his cheeks. She waved him over and he walked like a man on death row. "Ben says you asked about me?" she started, content to watch him squirm under her attention. He looked the same as he always did. Wavy hair. Compassionate eyes. Just a little bit of a boyish attitude hidden in the curves of his face._

_"I just asked how you were doing," he said defensively._

_Regan and Ben shared a glance. "The usual. Kicking ass, taking names, showing up Ben at pool."_

_"Hey!"_

_"Can we talk?" Jack asked suddenly. "Outside?"_

_She shook her head. "One thing the Army taught me was to not waste time. Otherwise you'll be running an extra mile in the rain. So let me lay it out, no filtering. Yes, I did like you. No, I don't regret having sex with you on prom night." Ben started laughing again. "What I do regret was the fact that I bothered with you for months having orgasm-less sex and told myself that was fine." She leaned on one leg and put a hand on her hip. "Literally, Jack, my hands did better than your dick ever did. Let's just call it over and done with and move the fuck on." She gave him a bright smile and a ladylike wave. "Bye!" she chirped, turning her attention to the darts in her hand and the board in front of her._

_Ben was red in the face from laughing. "That was fucking brutal," he wheezed._

_"It was meant to be," she countered, throwing her darts. "I'm leaving for 'terrorist country' soon. I don't have time to beat around the bush." She stepped aside so he could take his turn. She hopped up on a stool, crossing her legs and nursing her drink. "I only have two goals in life."_

_"Kicking ass and taking names?"_

_She snorted. "Fuck, maybe." She took another sip. "No. Protecting my sisters, and beating up their boyfriends and-or their girlfriends I don't like. That's about it. Maybe finding my college degree in between those two things." She slid off the stool. "But first..." She stepped back to the line. "I'm gonna kick your ass at darts."_

\---

"Holy mother of all fucking love and light!" Regan shouted, dragging her hands through her hair. The widest smile split her lips as they stared into the ravine. "That's my fucking Miata!" Nestled right between two trees and a massive boulder was her 1989 MX-5 Miata. She scrambled down into the ravine and all but threw herself in the driver's seat. The top was down and the leather was absolutely ruined, but she didn't care. She skimmed her fingers across the wheel and sighed happily.

She could recall night after night after _night_ of driving with the top down, relishing in the fresh air and the wind whipping through her hair. Music screaming through the stereo as she made her way down the freeway, as free as she could possibly be. She had her first experience with weed in her Miata. She got pulled over for the first time in her Miata. There had been one time, as she was waiting at a red light, where she'd spotted a Miata on the opposite side of the intersection. They'd passed the time at the red light by winking their pop-up lights at each other.

Hallie jumped in the passenger seat. "I guess she wanted to make the trip with me. I was driving back from Milwaukee and what I assume was a drunk driver swerved into oncoming traffic. Woke up right where you're sitting. Wandered until I found the nearest village out of the mountains. Then Stroud found me and..." She shrugged. "You know the rest."

"Weird fucking life, isn't it," Regan sighed. Her keys were in the center console. "Wanna make a bet?" she asked, picking them up. The keychains jingled their familiar tune. "Ten sovereigns." Hallie laughed and nodded. Regan slid the key in the ignition and turned the engine over. Her faithful little Miata sputtered to life. They both threw their hands up and cheered. The upgraded dash she'd done herself fizzed. Of course there wouldn't be any radio stations within range, but she had something better. She reached over Hallie and pulled open the glove compartment, digging around until she found her CDs, popping in her favorite custom mix.

A calm, yet promising percussion intro started off the song. Hallie fell into a fit of giggles, Regan following her quickly.

_"I hear the drums echoing tonight,_

_But she hears only whispers of some quiet conversation."_

Hallie dug around in a pocket before pulling out something Regan thought she'd never even _think_ about again. A cell phone. A sleek, black smartphone with a few battered corners and more than a few jagged cracks stretching across the screen. Regan chuckled at it as the music continued to play. Hallie rummaged around the glove compartment and pulled out a similar looking object with a cord hanging from it. She plugged it into the bottom of her cell phone and it chimed brightly, rising from the electronic grave.

"So I'm assuming after I 'died'..." Regan started, "you just up and stole my Miata?"

Hallie nodded and worked on turning her phone all the way on. "Pretty much," she admitted. "No one else wanted it. Holland had her Chevy. Mom hated the thing. Dad couldn't stand to look at it without storm clouds forming over his head." She shrugged. "Seemed like such a waste to sell it after all the work we put into keeping it alive all these years." A picture of the two of them blinked into existence on the phone screen. Their faces were covered in chalky dye after finishing a Color Run, but it did nothing to cover their bright smiles.

"Do you still have that video of Drunk Regan at Olee's birthday party?" Regan asked.

With a wicked smirk, Hallie navigated through her gallery and found a short video, barely thirty seconds long. Regan, long past the line of intoxicated, was standing at the open sliding door of Olee's apartment, pointing with an authoritative finger and going on about something that probably wasn't as important as she thought it had been at the time. Her words were drowned out by the blaring music, but her voice could still be picked out as she made a comment about going to get another drink, turned around, and promptly crashed into the still-closed screen door right next to her. The plastic handle snapped off, the frame bent at an extreme angle, and the whole screen popped off its track. The room of friends erupted into choking laughter at their one-legged drunkard sprawled outside on the ground. Present Regan chuckled behind a fist.

"I felt so bad," she sighed.

"You paid for a new door."

"Yeah, after almost getting frostbite on my feet. Remember? Drunk me was fucking stubborn and spent the next twenty minutes out in the freezing cold, trying to pop it back on the track." She sat back against the ruined leather and sighed. "I miss them," she stated firmly. "Our friends. I miss them all."

"We have friends here."

Regan snorted. "Yeah, but no friends that have had sex on a park bench. Or thrown up at a wedding. None of them are lightweights like Fiona. I seriously doubt any of them know how to ski as well as Nick does." A somber silence stood between them. They were outsiders. They were strangers in a strange land. They didn't belong in Thedas. And yet...the strangeness of it all left Regan with a thrill constantly racing in her blood. Her muscles sang even when they ached for reprieve. She wanted to run and run and run until her lungs gave out and she could collapse on solid earth, knowing that she was purely herself and happy and _free._ She craved freedom like it was the most potent drug, and Thedas had an abundance of it. Her worth was found in her physical skills, her swordsmanship and agility, and not in how well she could file her taxes or drive her car.

They might not belong in Thedas, but Regan would rather die than leave.

"Is the spare gas canister still in the trunk?" she asked.

"Should be. Unless someone's found your baby and raided it."

She got out and brushed her pants off. "Considering the portable phone battery was still here, I doubt that." She sauntered to the back of the little car. The car was so dinged up that the trunk was already popped open, so all she had to do was yank it open. The dented metal screeched as it dragged against itself. The red, plastic canister of gasoline sat near the back. She grabbed it and hauled it out, glad it was still completely filled, but stopped when she noticed what else was in the trunk. "Fucking hell, Hal, what _didn't_ you steal from my house?" she laughed.

Hallie jumped out of the passenger seat and joined her at the back of the car. "Pardon me, miss, but you left all these things in here when you died," she said sarcastically. She pointed to a duffel bag. "Your gym clothes are still in there. Washed, thankfully." She pulled out a pair of dress shoes. "When the fuck did you wear these? And why are there two of them?" Regan laughed. Hallie's lips split into a sly grin as she nearly climbed into the trunk to drag out a funny looking case from the back. "And this."

Regan actually screamed as Hallie tossed the case into her hands, causing her to drop the gas canister. "NO FUCKING WAY!" she screeched, nearly tearing the zipper off and revealing her most prized possession. "MY LITTLE GAY GUITAR!" She cradled her ukulele close to her chest, tears springing in her eyes. "How dare you steal my baby?!" she choked out, laughing. "I hope you realize that you'll be hearing me play it for the next month or so. Nonstop." Hallie groaned. Regan carefully put her ukulele back in its tiny case and picked up the gas can again.

"Didn't you say one time that you always wanted to torch a car Walter White style?" she asked, starting to douse the poor Miata in gasoline. Hallie nodded, grinning once again. "Good, 'cause I don't feel comfortable leaving 20th century Earth tech just sitting out here for someone to discover and launch Thedas into a premature industrialization era." Can empty, she tossed it carelessly in the driver's seat and dug around the glove compartment again for the spare emergency napkins she always kept there as well as her classic Zippo lighter. She unscrewed the gas cap and jammed the napkins in the hole.

"You _do_ know how fast napkins start on fire, yeah?" Hallie asked tentatively.

"Yep! That's what's gonna make this interesting. You might want to take cover behind something. Preferably something that can take the force of a shock wave." Regan flicked open her lighter and lit it, watching and laughing as Hallie practically dove behind a huge tree. "Any words you wanna say to our past lives before we send my Miata to the gates of hell?" Regan called, wandering around to the stereo and blasting the music.  _Africa_ echoed like the voice of God in the remote ravine.

"I'd tell nineteen-year-old me to woman up and tell Annie that I loved her!"

Regan nodded at the confession. "Fair enough! Time to blow out these candles!" She lit the corner of an outstanding napkin with her lighter and hauled ass. She slid behind a tree like a professional baseball player and backed up against the trunk. She couldn't see Hallie, but she could hear her infectious laughter coming from somewhere nearby.

With the sound of about ten canons and thirty claps of thunder, the car exploded, shaking the ground beneath them. Regan's arms came up to cover her face and head as she felt the shock wave ripple through the air. The heat followed, practically baking everything it managed to touch. As soon as it was over, she bent forward, flexing her jaw and blinking hard. "Fuck," she grimaced, rubbing her temples. Her ears rang painfully and she couldn't quite see straight. She stumbled to her feet and braced herself against the tree, peeking around to see how much damage they'd caused. The trees and the boulder were obliterated. The poor Miata was nothing but a flaming heap of metal. An impressive mushroom of black smoke was high in the sky.

A lazy grin passed over her face. "Cool," she muttered. "Hal! You good?"

"Never better, you crazy bitch!" she shouted back. "Jesus, fuck, Re!"

They found a nice overlook of the ravine to lounge on, watching the bonfire for as long as they wanted. They both wanted a sisters night out, so they decided that they would return to Skyhold in the morning. The sun was dipping leisurely below the mountains to the west. Chilly, Ferelden air felt so divine in her lungs compared to Earth's. It was fresh like a cool drink of water on a hot summer day. At times it almost seemed like there was too much of it, and she briefly wondered if the oxygen content in the air was higher.

"There's gotta be something you miss terribly," Regan said at random. "Hell, I miss a lotta shit. The little things."

Hallie smirked, her red hair gently tousled by the wind. Her eyebrows knit together as she thought. "Does it make me a barbarian to say I miss bottled water?" she asked.

"You horror!" Regan exclaimed in a sarcastic tone. "Bottled water? I really hope you're not talking about _fucking Dasani!"_

_"Jesus fuck, Re, I'm not a monster!"_

They both fell into a violent fit of convulsive laughter, careful not to fall down and back into the ravine. Hallie laid down on her back, her arms clamped over her stomach as she tried to catch her breath. Regan, on the other hand, was bent over her knees, practically wheezing like an eighty-year-old man. It felt divine to laugh with her little sister again, to perhaps pretend that they were both ten years younger and just spending the weekend with each other. Holland could be with them too. Video games or movies, it didn't matter. They'd always find a way to laugh like there was no tomorrow.

"I kinda miss my essential oils," Hal breathed out after a while. "Lavender or lemongrass or the wintergreen one. I'd put a few drops of one of them into those wool dryer balls Dad got all of us for Christmas." Regan nodded, agreeing that she did the same.

"I miss hot chocolate," Regan declared like it was monumentally important that she do so. "All this cold, mountain air is making me wish for it more and more every day." Hallie groaned with a tone of longing. "Love and light, let's get set up camp so we can get back home."

\---

"What's this?" Regan asked, accepting the long package from Cullen with a sly grin on her face.

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck, a light blush gracing that line across his cheeks and nose. "It was really Inquisitor Lavellan's idea," he said quickly. "I just thought...well...open it."

She set it down on his desk, careful not to disturb any of the few papers lying in wait. She undid the knots in the twine and pulled the fabric away from the gift. _Gifts,_ as it turned out. Her mouth dropped open as she revealed two beautiful swords, brand new. When she thought 'beautiful', she meant 'these look deadly as fuck and I'm into it'. She picked one up and stepped out of the way so she could take a few practice swings. It felt deliciously balanced and moved like water. It was definitely meant for hacking and slashing instead of thrusting and jabbing. "Is it silverite?" she asked, still amazed.

Cullen nodded, picking up the other one. "This, however," he said, pointing to the hilt, "is dragonbone."

"What?!" she exclaimed. "Shut. Up!" She examined it more closely, studying the pale white bone that was hidden just under the blue dyed leather of the grip. "That's incredible..." She honestly couldn't remember the last time someone had given her such a gift. Sure, nobody had given her a sword before, but that's because swords weren't needed back home. But a gifted blade could mean the difference between life and death in Thedas, and Cullen obviously wanted her to be able to protect herself. In a way, _he_ was the one keeping her safe.

"They're beautiful," she breathed. She took the other sword from him, put them both down, and wrapped her arms around his middle, resting her cheek against his breastplate. "Thank you, Cullen. They're beautiful."

She sighed happily when his own arms came around her. "Two beautiful swords for one beautiful lady," he murmured into her hair.

She made a face, only sort of stifling a snicker. "I don't think anyone's called me beautiful before," she said. "My parents don't count, it's they're job to say that." She thought for a moment, scouring her memories. "Actually, now that I think about it, I've been called beautiful once in my life."

"By whom?"

She smirked, realizing they were slowly swaying back and forth, as if some gentle music was playing in the background. "This boy I used to go to school with. We were...together, I guess, for a while, but it didn't play out." She laughed curtly. "Damn. That was a long time ago."

Cullen chuckled. "You make it sound like you're fifty," he teased. Then he paused. "I...actually don't know how old you are."

"Twenty-eight," she answered in a laugh. "But believe me, I feel much older." She turned her head and gently nudged her forehead against his breastplate. "I think I've done too much in too little time." She got up on her tiptoes and kissed him on his stubbled cheek. "Thank you again, Cullen. It's kinda weird to say, but I can't wait to use them." Her eyes flicked down to his gloved hands, slowly flexing into fists and relaxing. "Something you want, Commander?"

"Might be," he murmured.

"Go on, then." She gasped quietly as Cullen gathered her up in his arms tightly, kissing her. She was by no means a tiny woman with her hard earned muscles, but she felt so small with Cullen. In some strange way, she loved it. For years and years, she was the older sister, she was the soldier in the family, she was a goddamn tree that refused to bend in a hurricane. But with Cullen...she could relax. She could let her guard down and allow herself to be swept away by the current that was entirely Cullen.

One of his hands drifted down to her thigh and she brought them both up on instinct, wrapping around his waist. The move made Cullen teeter on his feet, putting him a little off balance, and he backed up against the sofa. Continuing to kiss her thoroughly, he made his way around and tried to put her down as gently as he could. However, he seemed to forget how deceptively heavy she was, and ended up effectively crushing her. Regan heard a cracking pop and felt something shift in her torso under his breastplate. She couldn't help but yelp in pain, abruptly ending the moment.

"Maker's breath!" Cullen gasped, pushing himself off her, expression stained with worry and regret. "Did I hurt you?"

Laughing probably wasn't the best response, but it was all she had. Pain danced behind her eyes and red tinged her peripheral. Her breathing turned jerky, abrupt and curt inhales and exhales. Every breath hurt like a knife to the gut. She tentatively ran her fingers over her sides, wincing when they brushed over a bump on her right side that _definitely_ didn't belong. She threw her head back on the cushions of the sofa, trying to get her thoughts in order. "Ow," she whimpered. "I think you broke a rib."

Cullen's hand squeezed hers tightly. "I'm so sorry," he lamented. "I-I didn't..."

"It's okay," she assured him, the pain already subsiding as she got it in her head to stay still. "Shit happens," she joked, offering a smile. "I've had worse injuries, remember?"

There was a harsh banging on the door. "Commander!" someone shouted. "Hawke and Warden Stroud have returned! The Inquisitor is meeting them at the gates!"

"Help me up," Regan said, holding out a hand. Cullen pulled her to her feet carefully, causing her minimal pain, but there was no easy way for him to support her as they walked without somehow bumping in to each other, so they elected to walk separately. "Just go ahead, Cullen," she pressed. "They need you up there. I'll catch up." He nodded and broke off into a light jog. Regan held her side tenderly and leaned against the battlements, taking calculated breaths. Her heart was beating rapidly, but her torso was practically seized up in shock. She pushed on, holding her breath as she stumbled down the stairs.

"What happened?"

"The Wardens are fucking crazy!"

"That's not fair, Hawke!"

 _"Elgar'nan,_ boys, just tell us what happened!"

A small crowd of the Inquisition's inner circle were gathered around Hawke and Stroud. The Warden was sporting a gash along his hairline, a river of dried blood caked down the side of his face. One of Hawke's sleeves was torn off and he had lashes of burns curling around his forearm and biceps. Hallie appeared out of the crowd and laced her fingers with Regan's, both of them nodding at each other. Untied braids hung among the curls of her red hair. Regan couldn't help but stare and smirk as she saw the greenish glare behind her pupils, indicating her heightened sight. After they were finished with their silent greeting, they noticed how quiet everyone around them had gotten.

And they were staring at them.

"Dare we even ask?" Hallie muttered.

Hawke's expression was grave as he regarded the sisters. His sudden seriousness directed at them made Regan uneasy. The same feeling she always had when talking to her superiors, like she'd fuck something up without meaning to.

"Does someone named Holland mean anything to you two?" he asked. His tone suggested he already knew the answer.

Hallie's hand crushed Regan's. Regan's arms tingled as her blood rushed to her chest. Her side throbbed with the quickened beating of her heart.

And then there was a whole lot of nothing as she watched the ground rush up to greet her face.


	12. attractive madness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regan deals with the frustration of learning her other sister has also made her way to Thedas. Hallie and Lyanna turn to their emotions for solace as the siege on Adamant grows closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M STILL ALIVE BUT DAMN THOSE FINALS WERE A BEAST

It was a wreck, watching Regan spar with Cassandra.

Lyanna had noticed that Regan often politely declined to spar with the intimidating Seeker, electing to fight Blackwall or her sister, Hallie, instead. Knowing this, she couldn't help but wince every time Cass' shield connected with Regan's body. Violently. Every time she was knocked to the ground, Regan would yell louder, swing her swords harder, but seem to forget her training bit by bit. She became less and less precise, focused more on strength and power rather than the skills would win her the fight. Eventually, Cassandra rang Regan's head like a Chantry bell, throwing her back to the ground harder than the previous times.

Regan rolled on her back, stomping a foot and kicking up dirt with a frustrated shout. Blood was splattered across her mouth and cheek from her nose. Even from her distance, Lyanna could see the shimmer in her eyes that she tried to blink away as she wiped at her mouth.

"You're letting your emotions get the better of you," Cassandra said.

"No fucking shit," Regan growled, scowling at her. "I just...I can't..."

Cass put up her shield and lowered her sword. "You can, Regan," she declared in a commanding tone. "You're a soldier. You've done all this before. Get. Up." Regan did as she was told, sighing heavily as she retrieved her two training swords and took her spot on one side of the ring. "You're angry," Cassandra continued. "You're frustrated, you're worried, you're anxious. It's all tearing you down. Let it go. Leave it behind. Stop dragging it around."

"Easier said than done," Regan called back. Her lips moved, probably muttering something under her breath. She set her swords down and straightened up, pulling her sweat-soaked shirt up and over her head, revealing a combat breastband and an otherwise bare torso. "Ready when you are, Seeker."

Lyanna shamelessly stared. Regan was practically a slab of marble sculpted by an artist, and it was _entirely_ unfair. It was a common thought that made Lyanna scoff. How could someone who slept and ate so much be so toned and tight? She wasn't tanned, no, that wasn't right. She seemed like she could be half Rivaini, but Regan never mentioned any family history aside from her father was _not_ Hallie's father, though the difference in their ears made that perfectly clear. Her tattoos were on full display in the broad daylight. Every time she took a breath, her abdominals flexed impressively.

"Enjoying the view?" Lyanna jumped at the sound of Dorian's teasing voice. He laughed at her reaction and took a spot next to her. "Too busy ogling Miss Galloway to pay attention to your surroundings? Whatever shall you do if an assassin happens upon your way?"

"Shut up," she muttered, nudging his shoulder roughly with hers. Her cheeks were growing warm. "Maybe." Dorian didn't react straight away, giving her a chance to elaborate. "Look, she's attractive, alright? But believe me when I say I'm happy for her and Cullen and not at all jealous." She let out a heavy sigh and rested her head on her hands. "I just wish my love life was as alive as theirs."

"Love is never easy, my dear," Dorian told her. "You'll find someone." He smirked funnily at her. "Maybe her sister?"

Lyanna burst out laughing. _"Please!"_ she retorted. "You can quite literally see how strong Regan is. She'd probably come to Hallie's rescue at the first whisper of a fight and kick my ass."

"Without a doubt. Especially with that new leg."

Regan was doing better in the ring. Her features were undisturbed save for the hard line of her clenched jaw. She was skipping out of Cassandra's grasp when they got too close, playing defense. The hesitation in her left arm told Lyanna she was trying her best to learn how to dual wield properly, but it was all still new and strange to her. Unfamiliar and uncomfortable. She seemed to be getting the gist of it, though. Lyanna knew that her right hand would teach her left in time. She'd get it.

Regan groaned as Cassandra jabbed the pommel of her sword into her right side. Every bit of her tense demeanor fell away in an instant. She dropped her swords and pressed her hands to her ribs. "Why'd you have to go for my ribs, Cassandra?" she moaned, her face scrunching up. "You _know_ Cullen cracked my rib, but you just _had_ to just go and hit it, didn't you?" She laid down in the dirt and moaned louder. _"Why, Cass?"_

"You're being overdramatic," Cassandra droned, offering a hand. Regan took it and grunted quietly as she was pulled back to her feet. "I think you're done for the day."

Regan nodded and went back to her quiet moaning and groaning. Lyanna heaved a sigh and squeezed Dorian's arm, mentioning briefly that she had a meeting with her advisors in the war room coming up before making her way up there.

\---

Every arrow that Hallie loosed from her bow made her infinitely more frustrated. The Inquisitor had explicitly forbidden either her or Regan to leave and try and find their sister. She'd let it slide when Regan had gone to find Hallie, but she wouldn't allow two people to go on a suicide mission that had a high probability of fucking up the future siege on Adamant. Besides, how were two sisters supposed to infiltrate an ancient fortress, find their sister, and convince her to leave with them without alerting another soul? Hallie thought that target practice would keep her thoughts off of her twin sister.

 _Yeah,_ she laughed to herself. _Good fucking luck with that._

Hawke and Stroud's report had been brief. A brief fucking bombshell. Holland was a mage. That fact alone made Regan grip her arm tight enough to make her curse. Holland was also with the Grey Wardens. _That_ had left Hallie reeling. She'd had a slight ringing in her ears and she wasn't sure she would be able to stay on her feet. Regan's tone when she spoke suggested that she wanted to strangle both men, as if they were lying.

"You're sure it was Holland?" she had asked.

Hawke had looked defeated. "I thought she was Hallie at first," he'd admitted. "You two look remarkably alike. Not a freckle out of place."

Hallie _still_ didn't know how to feel. She wanted to do so many things. She wanted to scream. She wanted to curse at everyone who talked to her. She wanted to shoot the target full of arrows until it was just a pile of frayed, colored rope and broken arrows. But she couldn't find the motivation for any of it. When she tried to draw her arm back once again, her left arm buckled and she almost smacked herself in the face with her bow. She internalized a scream and gripped her bow tighter to keep herself from flinging it over the battlements and down the mountainside in anger.

"Rough day?" a voice asked. She turned to find Cremisius Aclassi, unarmored and looking like he'd just sweat enough from training to fill a kiddie pool. She shrugged and shook her head. "I, uh...I heard about your sister."

"Holland," she snapped back, then immediately felt terrible. "I'm sorry," she mumbled. Frustrated tears sprang up in her eyes. "I have the classic snappy redhead attitude and it comes out at the worst times." She closed her eyes and took calculated breaths. She didn't want to be mean toward Krem. He was incredibly nice. They'd even talked a few times at the Herald's Rest when they were down there for drinks. "I know it'd be stupid to go after her," she started, "and that Regan and I would most likely be captured and used as leverage against the Inquisitor."

"But you still want to go," Krem finished for her.

"Yeah," she sighed, sitting down in a heap, laying her bow across her lap. It was mid-afternoon. The shining sun was inching closer and closer to the mountains, but the stormclouds to the east promised snow overnight. "I thought this might help me. Maybe find some patience or help calm me down." She shook her head. "No dice."

Krem sat down next to her. "Have you tried anything else?"

"No. Regan thought letting Cassandra beat the shit out of her would help her, but I'm sure she's just as angry as I am right now." She let out a prolonged huff and extended her legs and laid down. She raised an eyebrow when Krem copied her, stretching out on the ground with a contented sigh.

"What are you so worried about?" he asked tentatively.

"Do you want the list in chronological or alphabetical order?" He snickered. "What _isn't_ there to worry about? Regan and I are the spontaneous ones. We always had the crazy-stupid ideas. Holland was the one that kept everything in neat rows. She made the plans and saw everything through step by step. But she's smart enough not to fall into something ridiculously stupid like blood magic and summoning demons. I'm confused and frustrated and anxious and...and why the hell are you lying on the ground with me?"

The question caught the lieutenant of the Chargers off guard. He sat up, trying to stutter out an explanation. His bronze cheeks were tinted pink from a blush. His hand went to the back of his head, rubbing the short hair there. He got to his feet and said, "I'm sorry, I should just..."

"Wait!" Hallie protested. She jumped to her feet and grabbed his wrist. "Don't go," she insisted quietly. "Please, Krem. _I'm_ sorry for being a typical hotheaded redhead. A snapping attitude is in my genes," she joked, offering a small smile.

He glanced at her hand still wrapped around his wrist. She followed his gaze and looked too, skimming her fingers down to intertwine with his. _Look out, Hal, you're falling,_ she chided herself. Her heart started hammering. She withdrew her hand in a flash and snatched up her bow. She brought her fingers to her lips and whistled sharply. "I need to go," she said, despite her earlier insistence for Krem to stay. "Like, now." She heard a yip and spotted Cherry skittering down the steps from the main hall toward her. She took off running, waving a hand for Cherry to follow.

She ran all the way to her room, nearly kicked open the door, paused, and then dashed across the hall, kicking open Regan's door instead. She was greeted with a shriek and a pillow to the face. Regan was down to her breastband and smalls, shielding her midsection with her leg and an arms. Hallie picked up the pillow and chucked it back with a curse.

"What the fuck are you doing in my room?" Regan shouted. "Fucking hell, thank Christ I wasn't completely naked!"

"I've seen you in less, Re, stop bitching," Hallie retorted. She shut the door abruptly and blurted out, "I think I like Krem!" in a loud voice.

Regan acted as if she didn't hear. She pulled on her pants but kept her shirt off. She put her hands on her hips and shifted her weight to one leg. Her eyebrows were knit together closely as her eyes scanned over her younger sister. "Cool," she quipped before reaching for her shirt. Hallie made a furious sound, which Regan snickered at. "I'm just fucking with you, Hal. I love it, but if you break sweet Krem's heart, I'll kick your ass. Or, more importantly, _Bull_ will kick your ass and I'll stand by and cheer him on." She paused for a moment. "Actually, Bull would _kill_ you."

Hallie spread her arms as if looking for an answer to pop out of thin air. "So what the fuck do I do?" she yelled.

Regan made a face and waved a passive hand. "Stop worrying your pretty little head! Jesus. I'm the one who hasn't dated anyone for the better part of a decade. While I was busy being single, you were the one running your 'duvet crash course'." She snickered. "You would've never survived the army with the way you freak out all the damn time."

"I'm serious, Re!"

"So am I!" she shot back. Hallie raised her bow overhead threateningly, but Regan remained unfazed. Hell, she'd had guns pushed in her face as well as faced an explosion that cost her a leg. Why would she be threatened by her little sister holding a bow without an arrow nearby? "Look. You're an adult, Hal. You're, what, twenty-five?"

"Twenty-six, but thanks," she corrected with snark and a smirk, expecting a smile and a laugh. Instead, she got a frown and an awkward silence. _Oh...fuck,_ she cursed inwardly. "Shit, Re, I'm sorry. It's my stupid impulsive redheadedness again."

She shook her head and sat down on the edge of her bed. "It's okay," she mumbled. "Disappear from the face of our world? Sure. Stay away for an entire year? And then some?" She rolled her eyes and flopped back on her bed, sighing heavily.

Worried she was about to accidentally bring out Sad Regan, Hallie quickly steered the conversation away from the topic of home. "Any advice on how to manage my love life?" Regan's features brightened and she straightened up.

"Why don't you just...start from the beginning?" she suggested.

Start from the beginning? Start from the beginning. _Do I even know where the fuck the beginning is?_ When did she first meet Cremisius Aclassi?

\---

_Hallie flinched as Regan hit the ground bodily after unsuccessfully trying to jump over the Iron Bull by using his horns as a sort of springboard. What she failed to take into account was the fact that Bull's head would move after she put the full weight of her body on it. Ultimately, she probably wasn't expecting to faceplant the ground and almost do a complete scorpion. She ended up on her side, moaning and groaning as Bull roared with laughter. A young man just outside the ring on the opposite end was laughing as well._

_"Good attempt there, Regan!" he called._

_"I fell right on my tits!" she shot right back. "Like, right on them. Full body weight. Fuck me..." She sat up and glared at the young man. "Way worse than when you_  punched _me right in the tit, Krem!"_

_"That was an accident!"_

_"Ha!" Bull barked. "More like you wanted a little more_  action _in the ring, Krem!"_

_"If he's that rough in the ring, I shudder to think of what he's like in bed!" Regan pushed herself up and stretched. She retrieved her training swords from the ground. "Ready to go again when you are, Bull!"  
_

_Hallie didn't like watching Regan spar. It made her flinch and worry over her sister's safety, even if Regan had spent more time in Thedas than she had. She almost hated hearing from her when she was in the army. She didn't want to hear how close her sister was to being shot or blown up. And now she hated almost seeing her getting chopped in half by Bull's absurdly large battleaxe. Oh, but she was good, wasn't she? She spun and danced away from his wide swings. She deflected the ones that came too close rather than taking the full force of a proper block._

_"I can tell by the look on your face that you're not exactly enjoying this."_

_The young man had gone around the sparring ring to stand next to her, arms crossed as he watched the two._ He's quite handsome, isn't he? _she thought. He looked like he was finely chiseled out of copper or bronze, and he had a hint of a Tevinter accent. He was only a few inches taller than her, but he had more muscles than she would ever hope to have._

_"Sort of hard to watch your older sister almost get beat to a pulp," she joked. "I should know at this point that she's drawn to unnecessary danger." She offered a hand. "I'm Hallie."_

_He took her hand and, to her surprise, brought it up to kiss her knuckles. A hot blush radiated on her cheeks and ears. "Cremisius Aclassi," he said, "but everyone calls me Krem."_

_"Smooth talker," she giggled nervously. "You can call me Hal if you want."_

_"Hal," he echoed. "I've seen you shooting arrows early in the morning. You sure can hit a bullseye."_

_"The morning helps me focus. Less noise, less people. Don't get me wrong, I love a night out, but I prefer my quiet mornings."_

_Krem ran a hand through his dark hair. "You should...come by the Herald's Rest sometime." He chuckled. "The Chargers love a night out, too."_

_"I don't doubt it." She smiled. "Are you...asking me out for a drink?"_

_He chuckled nervously. "I suppose I am."_

_Her blush was burning her ears. She tucked her hair behind one of them, feeling awfully weak in the knees and overly girlish. "I don't like wine, but I'll kill for a beer."_

_"I'll save one for you, then. Hal," he finished pointedly, grinning._

_"Bull!" Regan shrieked. She was being dangled upside down by her ankle. She was red in the face as she tried to reach her prosthetic. She yanked the buckles free after a few tries and started swinging it wildly at the Iron Bull. He dropped her in a heap and laughed. "You're such an asshole," she groaned._

_"And you're such a hothead," he countered, helping her to her feet once she'd put her prosthetic back on. "You fight like an angry house cat."_

_"It works on demons!" She nearly fell over when he clapped her on the shoulder. "Thanks, Bull. Drinks later?"_

_"I should get going," Krem said. "The Chargers are off to the Hinterlands soon to dispel rumors and protect supply lines. "But...I'll see you later?"_

_Hallie couldn't help the wide grin that graced her lips. "Definitely," she confirmed, her heart fluttering a bit. He took her hand and kissed once more before going off with Bull. Regan brushed her clothes free of loose dirt and walked up to her. As much as Hallie wanted to pretend she wasn't as red as a strawberry, she was sure Regan saw it based on the cheeky look in her eyes. "Why do you always pick a fight with the biggest ones?" she asked._

_Regan shrugged. "Cullen mentioned something about Bull's blind side." She grinned. "He was right. Plus, Bull always makes me laugh. And he's totally right. I_  do _fight like an angry house cat whenever I'm in the ring with him." She shrugged. "I'm gonna go get cleaned up. Are you coming down to the Rest later? The Inquisitor is leaving for the Approach again and the Chargers are going to the Hinterlands. I'm sure it'll be quite the hullabaloo."_

_"Maybe," Hallie answered off-handedly, trying not to squeal like the flirty redhead she knew she was at the thought of getting to know Cremisius Aclassi better.  
_

_"If you are, don't wait up for me. I might be late."_

_Hallie snickered and nudged her shoulder against Regan's. "Gonna be pinned beneath the Inquisition's Commander for a bit?"_

_"I hate you, too, Hal," she countered easily. She shouldered her training swords on her shoulders and sauntered towards the stairs. "I'll save a beer for you!" she called back._

_"Someone's already beaten you to that offer!" Hallie returned. She crossed her arms and looked at her boots, unable to stop smiling._

\---

Regan's snapping brought Hallie back to the present. Her older sister was laughing at her. "Yeah," she sighed. "You've got it bad. I've never seen you stare into the middle distance like that while thinking about someone you like. Except maybe Christ Hemsworth."

Hallie shot her sister a strange look. "Did you just say 'Christ' Hemsworth?"

Regan paused. "I think I did," she chuckled. Hallie followed it up with laughter over the silly fluke of her words. "I'm serious, Hal," she continued. "Just go talk to him. Bull would probably encourage you to pin against a wall and...well, Bull would probably tell you to do more than just kiss him, but I'm your sister and I'm not about to think about that, so..." She shrugged and rubbed the back of her neck. "These last few days have been a shit show."

"That's an understatement," Hallie retorted, crossing her arms.

"Everything's fucked."

"Better."

"We're about to literally storm a castle in a week's time. A castle filled with Wardens and demons along with our sister. It's not worth it to just sit around and simply hope things are better than they actually are." She slipped on her jacket. "I'm going to the Rest for a pick-me-up. Why don't you come along? You need to give your arms a rest and Krem's definitely gonna be there too."

\---

Hallie was terrified.

Terrified of making a fool of herself by tripping over her own two feet. The Herald's Rest was packed with members of the Inquisition. Most if the inner circle was crammed in one corner together casually playing Diamondback over the clamor and music. Due to her sister's relentless insistence, she'd sought Krem out, and they'd ended up dancing. _Dancing._ The thought almost made her laugh. Her sister was the one that danced. Well, used to. She tried not to stare at her feet in fear of stepping on Krem's toes.

"Relax, Hal," he murmured. He pulled her an inch closer. "I won't hold it against you if you occasionally step on me."

"I guess I should be glad you're leading, then," she laughed nervously. He spun her out, then back in. "So you're a warrior, and a good dancer? Seems I lucked out."

"I manage." He was so at ease, so casual around her. It made her realize how much tension she was keeping in her muscles. She loved all the little things about him. How his skin was almost warm to the touch. How he smelled something like mulled wine. How unafraid he was with his words to her and his hand in hers and her hip. She was thrown off, usually so used to being the confident one, the one that lead in a relationship. 

Being in the other end, she found, was delightful.

It wasn't a huge surprise to her when he leaned in and kissed her. In fact, she was prepared for it. His lips were soft and warm and tasted faintly of cinnamon. Her heart fluttered in her chest relentlessly and she never wanted the moment to end. He was so different from the other people she'd been with, man or woman. He was gentle and sincere and so sweet it made her heart ache for more. He felt solid under her fingers, like he was there to stay. _Christ, but I hope he does stay,_ she found herself thinking. She pulled him to the side for a bit of an anchor against the wall as she pulled him flush against her and kissed him again. She couldn't help but feel elated. Here was a young man that not only cared about her, but was apparently totally okay with making out on the fringes of tavern clamor.

"Hal," he breathed against her lips, halting hers. "I-I need to tell you something."

"I know," she sighed, pulling him into a tight embrace. "Regan told me."

His cheeks were hot with a blush. "She did?"

Hallie nodded, giving him a gentle smile. "It's okay, Krem," she assured him softly. "Honestly. I like you for _who_ you are, not _what_ you are." Krem let out a heavy sigh, like the weight of the whole goddamn world had been taken off his shoulders. "I _like_ you, Krem. _A lot._ And..." She could feel a heated blush of her own creeping down her neck. "I've been with my share amount of people, but you're the only one who's made me feel this way."

"Like what?" he pressed affectionately.

She laughed. "Like my knees are gonna buckle if you kiss me again. But I love it, so _please_ do it again."

Krem's lips split into a wide grin. "Wanna get out of here?"

 _"Please,"_ she repeated, effectively fallen, ready to scream with joy as he took her hand in his and lead her out of the tavern.

\---

Regan wasn't drunk, no, but she would admit that her courage was heightened by a drink or two. She knocked on the door to Cullen's tower. A thousand different thoughts raced though her mind, doubt and nervousness driving many of them. However, her heart leaped to her throat when Cullen answered the door and greeted her with a kind smile. He'd forgone his armor for the day, dressed in a simple threadbare shirt and trousers. She held up the bottle of wine she'd brought. "I, uh..." She shook her head. "Can I offer you a drink?" she asked.

He opened the door further and offered his hand. She set hers in his and allowed him to lead her into his office. The fire was warming the room comfortably, but she could still feel that lingering chill that seemed to always accompany the air of his tower. "Did you come because you couldn't find me in the tavern?" he asked almost teasingly.

"Maybe," she snickered, hopping up to take a seat on his desk, crossing her ankles. "But I figured it wasn't your kind of scene anyway." She passed him the bottle of wine and waited as he retrieved a pair of glasses for the two of them. He seemed calm and at ease, and that observation made her feel better. He was the damn Commander of the Inquisition for fuck's sake, and he no doubt had to struggle a little to find such moments of respite. With the siege of Adamant barely a week away, she was surprised to see him in such a way, and she was determined to keep him that way for at least the rest of the night. "My sister likes Cremisius Aclassi," she mentioned, accepting the cup of wine that Cullen offered her.

"Is that so?" he chuckled, sitting down in his chair behind his desk. "Your sister doesn't really seem like the type to be tied down by anyone."

"I know!" Regan laughed. "But I've never seen her pine over someone like this." She took a sip of her wine. "It makes me happy that she's happy." A moment of silence passed between them, and she couldn't help but add on to her train of thought. "You make me happy, Cullen." She got off his desk and stared into the depths of her cup. Before she knew it, she was rambling to him. "I mean, _fuck,_ it's been almost a decade since I last felt this for somebody, but even then I was disappointed at the end of the line. But, _hell,_ I feel like I should say that I'm confused, but for the first time in my life, I'm not, and that whole thing is just confusing in and of itself and I just..." She sighed and shook her head, realizing she'd been pacing. Maybe she'd had more to drink than she'd initially thought.

Quite suddenly, Cullen was at her side, taking her cup from her hands and setting it on his desk. "It's okay, Regan," he assured her softly, taking her hands in his. "It's just me."

She laughed. "I know." She tilted her head up and found his lips waiting for hers. Cullen gave and gave and _gave_ when he kissed her and it only made her want to hold on tighter. Her fingers dug into his shirt as his tongue glided past hers. Maker, but she'd never wanted more, but she found herself wanting him. Cullen was more than she could have ever hoped for in life. The very revelation terrified her more than any deployment she could have been sent on in the army, but she couldn't bring herself to care. All she cared about was the grip of his hands on her body. And when his lips trailed across her jaw and left suckling kisses along her neck, her thoughts were blown sky high. It was instinctual as she let her head fall back to give him better access. She gasped his name like it was a verse in his precious Chant and it only seemed to spur him on. Whether he meant to or not, his hips were pressed flush against hers and she could feel his arousal between them.

"Regan," he breathed against her neck.

"That's my name," she joked along with a shaky laugh. Before she knew it, she was pressed up against his desk, lost beneath the waves of pleasure and affection that Cullen seemed to have an endless supply of to give. "I don't know where you think this night is going, but I quite like your intentions." His response was a throaty chuckle that made her weak in her knees. "Please, Cullen..." He stooped down to hook his hands beneath her thighs and pull her up to sit on his desk, wedging his way between her legs. Her hands went to the hem of her shirt, pausing to look for confirmation in his amber eyes. His hands nudged hers aside and pulled it over her head. The startling thought of what events were about to occur made her pause, and Cullen noticed.

He was breathing slightly heavier, she noticed as he looked at her, scanning his face with those eyes. "We don't have to..." he trailed off.

"But I want to," she sighed, kissing him. "And I can guarantee it's been longer for me than it has for you."

Cullen laughed, his voice in that low baritone that she found herself loving. "You're sure about that?" he challenged. She giggled and nodded, running her fingers though his hair, drawing his curls back to their natural state. "Maker, Regan..." She laughed again, but it turned into a yelp when he yanked her up into his arms. She kissed him like she was drowning of thirst and his mouth was an oasis. He slowly stumbled over to the wall, pinning her lightly against the stone before setting her down again. "Ladder?" he suggested, jerking his head to the side.

"Gladly, Commander," she teased, grabbing the rungs and eagerly climbing up to his loft. She smiled when she saw the massive hole in the corner of his tower, showering the floor with moonlight. Cullen followed her up, circling his arms around her and pressing gentle kisses to her neck once again. "I like the decor you have up here," she joked.

"Sorry it lets so much cold in," he apologized.

She turned in his arms to face him. "Believe me, Cullen, I get it." She kissed him. "Hallie _loves_ to tease me with how long I slept on the floor after I came back from my deployment. My bed was just too damn soft." She looked at it again. "Besides...I like it. You get to sleep under the stars. I would've given everything to do that back home." She gave him a sultry smile. "But I'm sure you didn't tell me to come up here just so I could appreciate your room."

"Quite right, Miss Galloway."

"I'm all yours, Commander Cullen."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also I was a little drunk writing the last bit so if I wake up and have any regrets, know they're staying there and I'm gonna roll with it ;) <3


	13. the inbetween things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regan x Cullen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> had to get away from the sad bits for the future and I know yall are thirsty for some action <3
> 
> also look out for the next chapter very soon cause i've been working with it for a hot minute and I hope yall like it ;)

Regan's world was a wash of sensation. Lips, hands, fingers. The press of Cullen's body against her and the heat of their skin. Then of course there was what she heard. The sound of Cullen's attention to her neck. The little hitches in her breath and quiet moans that escaped her. She felt like she was going to fall, that her knees were going to buckle at any moment, but he held her firmly. His lips brushed against the corner of her jawline, before traveling down to her collarbone to press a tickling kiss there. She nearly giggled, but was too distracted when he moved his mouth along the tattoo that graced her chest.

"I thought you were a Chantry boy," she panted, a breathless smile on her own lips. "Templar virtues and all that."

He chuckled lowly and straightened up. "Doesn't mean I've been a blushing virgin my whole life." His cheeky smirk was the sexiest thing she'd ever seen in her life, and she couldn't help but slide her hands up his arms and through his hair, pulling him down so she could kiss it. Kiss every inch of his mouth. He pulled her tighter against him, their hips rocking together in an almost primal dance. Regan felt a throbbing heat she hadn't experienced in almost a decade.

The thought made her pause. How lame was she to not have gotten laid in over ten years? With only her own hands and the occasional vibrator to keep her company? It was horribly laughable, and she couldn't help the snicker that tumbled past her lips.

"We should probably lose some more clothes," she suggested. Even as she said it, his hands moved to the laces of her pants, hurriedly tugging them loose. Her hands covered his and helped push her pants down, taking her smalls with them. They got caught on the buckles of her prosthetic, eliciting an awkward chuckle from the both of them. "Sorry," she mumbled, her cheeks growing hot with embarrassment. She hadn't given a whole lot of thought to the fact that she was short one leg. A real one with skin, muscle, and strong bone. Instead, she had one of hickory, carbon fiber, and red steel. One that had runes that gave her feeling and flexibility.

"If it bothers you..." she found herself muttering. "My leg, I mean--or rather, my lack of one-"

He stopped her rambling with a firm kiss. "You worry too much," he whispered.

"Says you," she countered, her heart still racing. She felt a bit ridiculous with her pants and smalls around her ankles, so she stepped out of them and kicked them aside. Her own hands went to her breastband and pulled it free as well, casting it aside with a relieved sigh.

Cullen took a half step back and looked her up and down with something like wonder in his eyes. She felt more naked under his gaze than she had ever in her life. Every instinct screamed at her to cover herself, to shy away and apologize, maybe. She was no untainted vision. She had tattoos, scars, and more muscle definition than most women. She was definitely okay with her body, and with others seeing it, but as long as she had pants and a bra on, at the least. Now, as bare as the day she'd been born, every ounce of her hard won confidence had evaporated on the spot.

Until...

"You are _beautiful."_

There was an emphasis in every word he spoke. He was every bit as endearing as he could be, she knew, but she couldn't help but blurt out, "'Beautiful' isn't quite the word I would use," with an added nervous laugh. He pulled her close and kissed her thoroughly. Kissed her until she felt a shred of the worth he believed she was, and that meant far more than the world to her. The world blurred into wave after wave of hands, lips, and rocking hips. Cullen gave her tiny nudge after tiny nudge until she was backed up against the bed and left with no choice but to sit on the edge. She let out an absurd squeak when he dropped to his knees before her and wedged his way between her legs, leaning in to kiss circles around her breasts.

"Someday," he murmured against her soft skin, "I'll say it again and you'll believe it. I promise you that." She pulled at his hair on instinct when he suckled at her breasts in turn. Despite his reservations regarding his experience with women, Cullen sure knew how to work one up. His hands were something like magic and his mouth even more so. She was once again reminded how lame her previous relationships had been. Well, _relationship._ Singular. That fact alone was the biggest oof of her life. But those thoughts were soon swept away as Cullen's mouth moved lower, oh so lower. South down her cleavage and over the hard plane of her stomach. His hand encouraged her to lie back, so she did, wholly unsure of what to do with her hands.

 _Oh...my god!_ she thought in a flash. _Jack never did this. Hell, Jack never_ dared _to do this._ She clamped a hand over her mouth when Cullen pressed his lips against her most private of parts. Her hips twitched under his attention, desperate for more. _She_ was desperate for more. Anything and everything he could give her. When his tongue flicked against her clit, she saw stars behind her eyes. Maker's breath, the _mouth_ on him! Never before had she felt such pleasure, such surprise and shock all in the span of ten minutes. With Jack, it had always been about what his _prick_ could do, no matter if she was satisfied or not. With Cullen, he was willing to be patient for her sake. For _her._ He slipped his fingers into her easily, the cheeky man, and curled them like was beckoning her nearing orgasm from her.

She gave _everything_ to him willingly.

She was ashamed at how well she'd considered her hands to be in the sense of pleasuring herself, now that she'd had a taste of what sex was _supposed_ to be like. She let out a breathy laugh. _More like_ Cullen _had a taste of_ my _sex._ The man himself shuffled to stand over her. Her bones could have weighed a ton for all she knew. She couldn't even lift them, she was so blown away. All she could do was manage a lazy smile while she caught her breath. She felt his hands sink into the mattress on either side of her as he leaned over her, brushing his lips against hers. She managed to drag her arms up to circle around the back of her head.

"I..." She smiled. "I'm not sure I have the words for anything," she admitted. "You wicked, wicked man..."

"Guilty as charged," he agreed. He settled at her side and pulled her as close as he could. "Can't say it didn't do anything for me." They shared a chuckle. "But...I trust you liked it, then?" A snort wasn't exactly the romantic reassurance he was looking for, she knew, but it was the first thing that popped past her lips. She pressed her forehead against his bare chest while she tried to muffle her laughter. "Is that a no?"

She looked up at him, smiling. Maker, but he was handsome. She had once thought that Cullen wasn't exactly her type, but he was. All sharp jawline, handsome as hell stubble, and an oh so tender heart full of love, compassion, and endearment. She tipped his chin down with a finger so she could press a warm kiss against his lips. She'd had words well enough to crank out a book, once upon a time, but she had no hand for romantics. She didn't even know what words to use, much less how to use them, but she was willing to try. "You're the first man to put his mouth on me like that, and the first--besides myself, of course--to get that kind of reaction out of me."

_Say it._

Cullen looked surprised. "But you said...said you weren't..."

"A virgin?" she supplied, giggling at the redness creeping down his neck. "I'm afraid you're a little over a decade late if you wanted to claim the right of taking my virginity, Commander Rutherford." She kept giggling at his blush, now reaching his collarbone. "Surely you don't want me spilling every close-kept secret regarding my previous sex life?" Her tone turned serious. "Because If I'm being frank...I don't. It doesn't really matter where we've been, Cullen Rutherford. I'm only concerned about you and me." She bit her lip momentarily. "I just have...one...request..."

"Anything," he promised, kissing her. His hand moved to cup her cheek, but she covered it with her own, moving it down to her right thigh, where the series of strong buckles ribbed her skin and kept her prosthetic in place. He broke away and looked at her, eyes darting between hers as he looked for...something, surely. Permission? "You want..."

"I'll admit that it's chafing against my other leg," she joked nervously. "And I'll also admit that..." She took a deep breath. "That I think you'd better see all of me..."

They shuffled so they were sitting. Cullen moved further still to his previous kneeling spot on the floor. His hands skimmed along her thigh and she felt that pull of desire for him once again. _Say it,_ she told herself again.

First buckle.

_Say it._

Second buckle.

_Dammit, Regan, just fucking say it, already!_

_Later!_ she snapped at herself as Cullen undid the third and final buckle, the one that mattered the most. The one whose job was to keep the two pieces of her together, as one, functioning leg. The light of the runes along the piece dimmed and her feeling went with it. She shifted a little, uncomfortable. Cullen looked up at her with a face of worry. "Sorry," she mumbled as he gingerly set her prosthetic aside. "It's just...every time I take it off, and I lose feeling..." She shook her head. "I'm reminded of how I lost it."

The staring. She hated the fucking staring. Hated it more than the way she lost the fucking leg. All it did was give her pity she didn't want. She'd had enough pity for a hundred lifetimes. To hear it now left a bitter taste on her tongue. To just _see_ it in the eyes of those who saw her leg had the same effect on her. She turned her head away and closed her eyes, trying to fight off that dull fire that accompanied her everywhere. A fire that was fueled by the pity and bitterness.

The kiss to her knee startled her more than the explosion that had taken what was below it. She sucked in a sharp gasp of shock and moved her legs away, tucking them beneath her.

"I'm sorry," Cullen breathed. "I-I didn't..."

"It's okay," she found herself returning, opening her eyes to look at him. Never before had she seen such fear and worry in his eyes than what she was witnessing. He looked like a deer that had been caught in headlights. She could see that he knew what he'd done, accidentally, and was terrified he'd made a fatal mistake. "I've lived a long time with the staring," she murmured. "I..." She shook her head slowly. "I can't bear it from you, Cullen. Please."

Cullen slid on the bed, slowly pulling her close to him. "I'm sorry," he said again. "This isn't exactly the way I imagined this night going."

"It's okay," she repeated. "I'm just...letting you know." She got up on her knees and cradled his face in her hands. He looked as guilty as a dog that had gotten caught looting through a garbage can, and she couldn't help but smirk a little. She kissed him, relishing in the heat of his mouth. "You're still wearing too many clothes, Cullen."

"Suppose I should...fix that..." he breathed in between kisses.

"Allow me." She scooted to the edge of the bed and stood up on her one remaining leg. Over the years, her balance had improved momentously.This time, she giggled when she caught Cullen staring. She realized that she _could,_ in fact, take it from him, but she was going to make him guilty for it every time. "Don't make a one-legged woman wait," she hummed, holding out a hand. He took it, and she jerked him to his feet, smiling at the look of surprise on his face that she remained standing.

"Gentle reminder to you that I'm not a gentle damsel," she continued, moving her hands to the waistline of his breeches.

"Consider me reminded," he chuckled.

She plucked and pulled at his laces until his breeches were loose enough to push down. She swallowed a giggle when she saw the obvious tent Cullen was pitching in his smalls. Biting her lip and feeling a burning heat in her chest, she cupped him there, delighting in the groan that was rewarded to her. His hands gripped her hips as his eyes fluttered closed.

"Maker...Regan..."

She pushed his smalls down before her nerves could get the better of her. _Again,_ she was reminded how long it had been since she had seen a naked man so close. She wrapped her lithe fingers around his erection, giving a tentative pump of her hand. Her pride surged like never before at the noise he made. His muscles flexed when she stroked up, and his hips thrusted when her thumb grazed over the head.

"Bed?" she suggested, half expecting him to not hear her through his pleasure. He nodded abruptly, panting. She let go of his cock so she could press a hand on his chest and guide him to lie on his back. Careful not to trip or look ridiculous by jumping on the bed, she carefully climbed atop him, straddling his hips. They moaned in unison as their tenderest parts slid against each other. Cullen's hands slid perfectly up her muscular thighs and settled at her hips once again.

_Say it._

A chuckle passed between them when their hands bumped together reaching for his proud erection. _The learning curve,_ she thought. She nudged his hand away and grasped his cock herself, easing him between her wet folds, gasping when the head of him brushed against her clit, sending a sharp spike of pleasure straight through her. Cullen's fingers were digging ridges into her hips, no doubt leaving bruises for later. Regan let out an ungodly strained sound as she lowered herself onto his cock.

"Christ, Cullen," she blurted out. Not that she was doing anything crass such as rating his member, but he was more...well, _more_ than Jack. Admitting it to herself drew a funny laugh from her. Finally seated, she squeezed his arms, taking deep breaths. "Fucking hell..."

"You..." Cullen panted. "Okay?"

She kissed him insistently, practically shoving her tongue in his mouth, gliding against his own. _Maker,_ did he know how to move! She didn't think about her lack of experience, her missing leg, or the dozen other things wrong with her. She allowed herself to drift away in sensation. In the pleasurable stretch as her body fought to relax as Cullen drove her higher and higher with each thrust from below. She'd never felt anything like it, nothing so instinctive and simplistic. She almost laughed. _I might as well be a damn virgin!_ She knew she wasn't quite getting the rhythm down, but Cullen didn't seem to mind. He pulled her down to kiss her again, one hand moving up her side. Regan nearly choked and jerked away from his grazing fingers, giggling.

"Sorry," Cullen chuckled breathlessly, a lopsided smile playing on his lips. "Does that tickle?"

She nodded and placed her hand over his own, pressing down. "But it doesn't if you press a little harder."

"I meant to end up here." His weapon-worn hand gripped at her breast and she laughed. But it soon turned into a sharp gasp as his other hand busied itself between her legs, circling her core and making her twitch with pleasure. She didn't even recognize her own voice and the sounds it was making. The almost absurd little squeaks of wanton pleasure. The more she allowed herself to be lost in the world of Cullen, the higher she drifted, stepping closer and closer to that edge of oblivion she so desperately wanted to leap off of.

And then her leap of faith had been taken. She had never orgasmed during sex before, never known how it would be different from her hands. It was far more sudden than she was expecting. And the tightness, the heat that rushed through the marrow of her bones. It put her hands to shame. She was barely aware of Cullen chasing his own end, finishing within her with a quiet groan. Her elbows shook trying to keep her upright, so she flattened herself on his sweaty chest, listening to his thudding heart next to her own. In time, their heavy breaths synced up, and they were both suddenly one being.

She felt whole with him. Unburdened. Less like a soldier and more of the diehard romantic she knew she was, deep down. She didn't feel like she was wearing her army fatigues when he held her in his arms, or shed his own mantle as the Inquisition's commander and gave her that soft look that made her heart melt. Worried she was going to crush him soon, she eased herself off of his softening member and tucked herself in the crook of his arm. He shuffled to his side so they were almost nose to nose. Their breathing was evening. The air was cooling. It was late, too late to be up when there was packing and planning to be done in preparation for Adamant, but there they were, happy, calm, and satisfied.

Although it sounded weird and odd to admit, Regan never quite liked the feeling of being naked. It made her feel uncomfortable and vulnerable. She always slept in pajamas. She always changed straight after a shower or bath, never lingering in her towel. And yet, she loved the feeling of Cullen's bared form against her own. She wanted to tangle her legs with his, but worried she'd put him a little on edge by throwing her stump leg over his whole, muscled one. Nevertheless, she had a slack, dumb smile on her face. Cullen's fingers were tracing a delicious line up and down her spine, leaving shivers in their wake.

"You are..." Cullen breathed, trailing off with a soft sigh. "I have never felt anything like this."

"I can say the same," Regan agreed. _Say it._ She took a deep breath, measuring her next words carefully. "I love you. You know that, right?" She opened her eyes to look up at him, studying his face for any sign of, Maker forbid, rejection or distaste.

What she found instead, was joy as hot as white fire, and relief as cool as iced water.

"I love you, too."

They spent a moment or two kissing in languish. Their first kisses as proper lovers. Regan smirked at the label. _Lovers._ There wasn't anything so raw and foolish back home. But she liked it. To her, it meant more than a weightless title like "boyfriend". Boyfriends were easily replaced. Lovers had something special. Then again, the fact that Regan was a born and bred Wisconsinite rather than the Theodosian Cullen was and took her for was certainly...special.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not gonna lie, yall, i've had a tough go of it lately. i'm gonna keep writing as much as I can so yall can stay entertained. it was tough to write this with the sour mood i'm in but i couldn't sleep so i thought i'd crank it out, finally
> 
> also shoutout to the like five times i closed the tab without saving and had to redo parts :Dc


	14. o to die advancing on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Regan with the Inquisitor and Hallie with the Chargers, one of them is bound to run into more trouble than the other, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE BITCHES BET YOU DIDN'T EXPECT TWO CHAPTERS THIS QUICK

Regan was trembling from head to toe, half from fury, half from frustration.

The army of the Inquisition was halfway through the Western Approach, halted for the night. Everyone was on edge. Adamant was practically on the horizon, more than prepared for a siege. Back at Skyhold, the Inquisitor, her advisors, her inner circle, and even the Chargers had been stuck in the war room for hours going over the plans. The Inquisitor's party would consist of Dorian, Varric, and Regan herself. Hallie would go with the Chargers. Cullen would be leading his own men. The rest of the inner circle would be in their own team lead by Cassandra. Everything had been discussed, every stray soldier and tiny movement through the fortress.

Still, Regan was terrified.

Mostly terrified of and for her sisters. Regan was the big sister. It had been her job to protect them since they were born. She couldn't watch Hallie's back when she was off with the Chargers on the who knows what end of Adamant. She was so scared that something would happen, something bad that maybe could have been prevented had she been there. It was Murphy's Law. If anything could go wrong, it would, and she was struggling to keep her shit together. She'd walked the perimeter of the camp three times already in an attempt to calm down.

Holland was another story. Technically, she was on the opposing team. She was in the line of so many sharp edges. Regan had no idea why Holland was with the Grey Wardens or how she was a mage. All she knew was it was horribly likely that the next day was going to end and she was going to be left with only one sister. The only other thing she could think of that _might_ calm her down was back in camp, so she pulled her jacket tighter around her and wound her way through the maze of tents of all sizes.

When she finally came to the first tent, she flicked the bell hanging between the part and waited. "Password!" someone called from within.

"Oh, Jesus Christ," she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Uh..." She sighed again, louder. "Look, Dalish, I'm really not in the mood. Can I just talk to Krem for a minute?" She crossed her arms and shivered. The Approach was fucking cold at night, but the strangest thing was the stillness of everything. The camp was a tiny spot of activity in an otherwise void of silence. The flaps of the tent were pushed aside abruptly, revealing the man she wanted to speak with. "Got a minute?"

"Sure," he replied, pushing his hair away from his face and following. He was already dressed down for the night, unlike Regan, who was still fully armed and armored. The Western Approach was a desert tundra filled with a lot of nothing, but it was still a dangerous place that gave her a bad feeling. "What do you need, Regan?"

 _Why do I suddenly feel old?_ she thought, clasping her hands behind her back as they walked. "Hal wouldn't stop talking about you later that night," she started, smirking. "She nearly kicked down my door to tell every little detail about her own romantic excursion was with you." She snickered when she saw a blush appear on the young man's cheeks in the low light. "I'm happy she's happy. I'm happy that both of you are. Never thought I'd see the day when my dear sister would be so infatuated with someone like she is with you."

Krem rubbed at the back of his neck. "I, uh..." he trailed off. "She's something else. I suppose I was just drawn to that. I'd never do her wrong, if that's what you're worried about!" he quickly said.

"Heaven and hell, no, Krem!" She laughed. "I might just trust you to take care of her more than I trust Hallie herself." They shared a chuckle. "I wanted to talk to you to ask for a favor."

"Of course."

She stopped them, regarding him carefully. She felt a sudden surge of respect and affection toward him. She didn't know how, but she knew Krem would be not just good, but amazing for Hallie. She smirked. "Look after her, yeah?" she asked, the slightest of desperate tones in her voice. "Hallie's about as spontaneous as lightning strikes in a thunderstorm. I'm the soldier of the family, not her. If I would've had my way, she would be back as Skyhold, safe and sound, far away from all of this shit." She shook her head and kicked a bit of sand with her boot. "I can't watch her back tomorrow, so I'm making that your job."

Krem gave her a stern, serious look. "You have my word, Re," he promised.

She hadn't expected to feel at ease with his words--that was just her attitude--but she did. She let out a relieved sigh. "Thank you, Krem. And thanks for talking." She raised an eyebrow. "Next time I'll come by with the password, if anyone bothers to tell me it beforehand." He snickered behind a fist. "Stay safe tomorrow, hear me?"

"You got it."

She waved him off and took a little detour around the camp. Despite the overwhelming sense of doom and gloom that tomorrow would bring, she felt calmer. She felt confident in her own skin. She felt strong and empowered in her combat jacket and her fitted armor with two swords strapped to her hips. She chanted her personal mantra in her head as she walked. _Eagle, Owl, Heron. Muskie, Loon, eagles at Mallard._ She was a long way from Moon Beach. She probably wouldn't even recognize the damn place if she could ever go back. Or, more accurately, Moon Beach wouldn't recognize  _her._  

Her next stop was the war tent, the most likely place to find the next person she wanted to talk to. She ducked in quietly and, sure enough, found Cullen leaning over a detailed map of Adamant fortress. He was still in full armor despite the lateness of the hour. And the fact that he looked utterly exhausted. He looked up when she moved to push her hair back, letting out a sigh.

"I thought you were a scout with _another_ report," he explained, straightening up.

"You should be sleeping," she replied quietly, taking her own look at the map. It was littered with notes and illustrations of tomorrow's battle plan. "I think it's gonna be a big day tomorrow."

"I could say the same thing to you."

"I'm not the one leading an army tomorrow," she retorted, circling around the table to stand next to him, bumping her shoulder against his. "I'm just a soldier."

He chuckled. "Most soldiers don't dual wield. Besides, I need to go over this again."

"Cullen," she said softly, resting a hand on his arm. He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. "Maybe we _should_ have done more the other night," she joked. "It probably would've taken your edge off."

Regan was sure that the obvious would've happened the other night, but it hadn't. There had been a lot of kissing, some heavy petting, but all it had ended with was a shirtless Cullen and a darkened mark on the side of Regan's neck. They'd both come to the conclusion that exerting themselves the day before a battle wasn't the best of ideas. She'd left his tent after giving him a long, passionate kiss and the assurance that she'd had a good time, despite how lame it sounded. She had a pang of regret that she'd stopped him, but he'd made it clear that he didn't think any less of her because of it. Besides, their first night together had already come and passed. It wasn't like there was much to hide anymore. In the present, his arms circled around her and he held her tightly. She closed her eyes, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

"It'd be foolish of me to ask you to be careful, wouldn't it?" he sighed, resting his chin on her head.

"I'm a soldier, Cullen," she giggled quietly. "If you order me to, I'll be compelled to follow because you're still, after all, my commanding officer." She sighed, her face falling. "All I would ask is that you do the same. No being overly heroic."

He pulled back and pressed a long kiss to her forehead. "As my lady commands," he promised.

"Ugh," she groaned, leaning back so he could see her roll her eyes. "You're so sweet and gentlemanly it's making me sick. Where's your supposed Fereldan gruffness? The barbarism?"

"I'm saving it for tomorrow," he joked, chuckling.

She hugged him tightly. "I should go and get some sleep. You should to, Commander Rutherford." Cullen rolled his eyes at the use of his title. Regan took a second to engrave every bit of him into her mind. The rough stubble along his cheeks, neck, and jawline. The scar that crossed over the side of his upper lip. The way he always seemed to try so hard to tame his curls, yet the wave could be seen if looked at from the right angle. The gold flecks of the warm amber of his irises. She tried not to think about how it could very possibly the last night they would have the chance to hold each other, the last chance they had to be together. Being in the army had a certain security in combat that Thedas couldn't give her.

"I'll see you after the party," she said quietly, getting up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "I love you."

"I love you too."

\---

"I _love_ a good trebuchet meme," Hallie muttered under her breath, only loud enough for her older sister to hear.

Regan slugged her on her shoulder before pulling her into a tight embrace. "Come back to me in once piece, okay? Promise me."

"I'm a bad bitch, they can't kill me!" she chortled. She squeezed tightly. "Promise, Re. I love you."

"Love you, too." She pressed a firm kiss to Hallie's forehead and pushed her away. "Drinks are on me when we get back!"

"Fuck yeah!" Hallie laughed as she took off in a run to get back to the Chargers.

Regan's heart hammered as she took her place among her own small team. She'd moved her sword sheaths to her back so they'd stay out of her way during the battle. Her boot laces were double knotted. She'd triple-checked the buckles on her prosthetic and even the belt that kept her pants up. Every single piece of her armor was tightly strapped to her body. She was as prepared as she ever could have been.

It did fuck all to abate her terror.

She'd never had to be on the front line of a battle. She'd never had to face a countless number of enemies, not knowing when it would be over. She'd never had to personally spill blood by the strength of her own two hands and, by extension, two beautifully crafted swords specifically made for doing so. She'd only ever been afraid of having a bullet tear through her body with precision, not a bolt of magical energy shot from the end of a mage's staff. There were so many nevers in her life, but Thedas would take them all, whether Regan had a say in it or not.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, drowning out the hell around her. She had a dozen places she could escape to. On a kayak on Moon Lake. The balcony at her dad's condo in Port Washington. Maybe a late night kitchen sit-in with Cherry and a bowl of popcorn? She was surprised to all hell when she found herself with an assault rifle in her arms and scorching sand beneath her feet. The chin strap to her helmet was unclipped, swaying as she walked alongside her friend-in-arms, Private Washington.

"How are you doing?" he asked, his smooth, bass tone practically reverberating the air around them. "Big battle you're looking at."

"Tell me about it," she laughed bitterly. "I must be fucking insane. I'm a one-legged, overly sensitive Wisconsinite about to pick a fight with some of the supposed best fighters in Thedas, along with a fuck-ton of mages." She started tearing up behind her sunglasses. "I mean, what the fuck?"

"You always were one of the first to jump, Gal," Wash snickered, hauling his own weapon up on his shoulder. The village around them went on around them. A few kids were playing a game of tag. Adults went about their business with their usual, relaxed efficiency. "You'll survive."

Regan stopped in her tracks. Wash had been a lot of things, but never brutally honest. He was a through and through sugar coater. "Just, survive?" she asked.

"May-be," he drawled out. He pushed his sunglasses down a little and squinted at her with his warm hazel eyes. "I guess you'll just have to get your fucking ass back to that battlefield and find out."

She punched him in the gut, hard, her fist thudding against his Kevlar. "You were always an underlying jackass, you know that?" she snapped. She tossed her rifle aside and threw her arms around his middle. "I miss you, fucker," she muttered. "And know that I absolutely hate you."

He burst out laughing. "You better come with a deck of cards when you get up here. Your poker face is far better than anyone else's."

"Will do, Wash."

A triumphant cheer shook the ground beneath them when the "Fist of the Maker" shattered the gates of Adamant on the third strike. Regan felt a bit like throwing up when the Inquisition's forces pushed through, slicing and bashing through any Wardens that stood in their way. She couldn't help but give a careful glance at every body they passed as they followed Inquisitor Lavellan into the fortress itself, her chest tightening just a tiny bit every time she confirmed none were her sister's face. She also couldn't help hesitating every time a Warden came at her. She chose to defend, to let them come to her so she could get a strong look at them before sending them to whatever god they prayed to.

_"Pull back! They're through!"_

A strained shout was ripped from her lungs as she plunged both swords straight through the breastplate of a helmeted Warden, too big and tall to be Holland. She planted a foot in his midsection and kicked him off her blades. They were dripping red with blood, a stark contrast to the blue and silver that painted the Wardens on the outside. At the same time, a crossbow bolt sprouted from the neck of a Warden mage nearby, and she spotted Varric sporting a clever grin just past the unlucky mage.

"I got your back, Blackberry!" he called, reloading and firing off another bolt into the chest of a Warden.

A trebuchet shot struck the battlements above their heads. Regan shielded her face with one arm whilst glancing up at it. She turned just in time to see Commander Cullen rush through the broken gates, blood also splattered across his breastplate and sword. He'd forgone his mantle, and Regan had a fleeting thought that she liked him better without it. Alistair quickly followed in after, his usual boyish expression hardened into solid grimness.

"Alright, Inquisitor," he said to Lavellan. "You have your way in. Best make use of it. We'll keep the main host of demons occupied for as long as we can."

Lavellan raised an eyebrow as a cheeky smirk split her lips. "That's a worrying lack of specificity, there, Commander," she joked over the chaos.

"There are more of them than I was hoping, Inquisitor."

"You don't say!"

"Warden-Constable Alistair will guard your back. Hawke is with our soldiers on the battlements. He's assisting them until you arrive." A scream from the lungs of a soldier shoved from said battlements tore their attention away from each other. A demon peered over the edge briefly before disappearing. Cullen shook his head and pointed up. "There's too much resistance on the walls. Our men on the ladders can't get a foothold. If you can clear out the enemies on the battlements, we'll cover your advance."

"Cullen!" Regan said, unable to contain herself. She dashed to him, grabbed the lip of his breastplate, and pulled him in for a harsh and firm kiss. "I'm coming back," she promised.

"You'd better," he sighed, kissing her once more before hurrying back to his own troops.

"While we're at it," Alistair noted, "keep a lookout for Clarel. I doubt she's just lounging on the battlements, but we still need her."

"I'll bear that in mind," Lavellan said almost sarcastically.

The rampant slaughter they were heading was appalling. Fighting bandits and red templars and Venatori were one thing, but the Wardens were another. They believed, probably with every ounce of their beings, that they were in the right. They were justified, no matter the cost. She was a soldier, herself. She couldn't help but admit to herself that she probably would have followed Warden-Commander Clarel, had she been a Grey Warden.

And it nearly broke her to realize that Holland had probably come to the exact same conclusion. Only, she'd actually been presented with the opportunity to follow Clarel. And followed through with it.

 _Damn you, Holland,_ she thought as she crouched down and threw a charging Warden over her shoulder for Dorian to take care of. The second she straightened up to find her next adversary, she was greeted with heavy shield to the face, knocking her flat. The world around her was muted while a sharp ringing bounced around her skull. She let out a sigh and brought her hands up to cover her eyes. _Don't pass out, don't pass out, don't pass out,_ she chanted in her head.

Someone gripped her shoulder. "Regan? Regan, can you hear me?"

"Not so loud, Dorian," she breathed, keeping her eyes shut. "How's my face look?"

"Like shit," she heard alongside Varric's telltale, gruff chuckle. "Can you help her out, Sparkler?"

"Not to be pushy, but make it fast," the Inquisitor said.

"Hold still." A warm, bright light shined through her closed eyelids and a tingling feeling creeped from between her eyes to the back of her skull. Her splitting migraine throbbed away into a memory. "Better?"

She peered up at the three faces looking down at her. "I'll live," she groaned, taking Varric's and Dorian's offered hands. They pulled her to her feet, all of them pausing for a second to make sure she had proper footing before letting go. "If I ever get shield-bashed in the face again, it'll be too soon."

_"Keep your distance!"_

The Inquisitor glared up at the Grey Warden who'd shouted. "The Inquisition is here to stop Clarel, not to kill Wardens!" she shouted. "If you fall back, you won't be harmed!"

The man hesitated. "Alright," he sighed. "My men will fall back. We want no part of this. Deal with Clarel as you must."

"Good," Alistair said. "I'd hoped some of the Wardens would listen to reason."

They sliced and blasted and shot their way across the battlements. Regan was soon coated in blood, dust, and sweat. Her head was throbbing again, but she forced herself to ignore the pain. She had to. She rammed herself into a Warden, shouting a little in pain as her shoulder contacted with the shining silverite of the breastplate. The Warden stumbled back, and she took her opening to drive one sword through his knee, and the other through his neck. Blood spewed across the blade and she felt some warm drops splatter across her face. She had a brief thought that she would hate to see what she looked like. Fury-driven, covered in blood, and wielding swords like she was a fucking Ninja blender.

They found Hawke easily enough. He was taking on a Pride demon single-handedly. He was throwing lightning faster than it struck in a thunderstorm, some of the bolts encased in red-hot flames for what Regan assumed was either extra damage, or a little Hawke flair. _Probably both,_ she thought, going to work. A particularly tall Warden rushed her, wielding a broadsword. She sidestepped his initial swing and blocked the next. He stuck to her like a moth to a flame, pushing her back and back with his frighteningly fast swings. A strong one knocked her left sword from her hand, sending it scattering across the ground.

"Oh, fuck," she breathed, barely managing to duck a strike. The Warden brought his knee up and bashed her right in the chin. Her teeth would have clacked together had her lower lip not been in the way. The tender skin easily split, sending pain shooting across her jaw and down her neck. She stumbled back, swearing up a storm, but keeping her edge. He raised his sword overhead and she lunged, tackling the Warden around his middle. His broadsword rang against the stone and fell out of sight. He got his hands around her neck and squeezed, cutting off her air, rolling over her to get a better angle. She pawed at his face, chest, shoulders, anywhere she could reach, but he wasn't letting up. She gasped, struggling to breathe.

Black and red was tunneling her vision. Spots danced behind her eyes and she could feel her heart starting to race far out of control. Her lungs screamed for air. Her strikes against his body were getting weaker. She gave herself maybe ten seconds before she passed out, maybe twenty before she was dead.

Then, quite suddenly, an arrow tinged off the side of the Warden's helmet, startling him. His grip slackened and oxygen rushed into Regan's chest. She gasped and coughed, too busy worrying about the pain she felt everywhere rather than getting away from the man. She rolled on her side, almost retching as she caught her breath. She felt blindly until she found what felt like a weapon, and swung blindly in the general direction of her adversary. Instead of connecting with metal, or, more likely nothing, she felt a bit of a cushion beneath her strike, and heard the sound of skin and muscle splitting open.

Two seconds or two minutes could've passed and Regan would've known any better. By some grace of God, she found the strength to push herself to her knees, then to her feet. The world spun around her. Her hearing was dulled. She felt blood streaming from both her nose and her mouth and blindly wiped at it. She spotted both of her swords not that far away from each other, stumbling to pick them up. The Warden was lying where she'd struck him, a large, open wound in the side of his neck. She'd almost decapitated the man with his own sword. His helmet barely on his head anymore. She frowned and quickly looked around, making sure she wasn't in any immediate danger before walking back to him. She got down clumsily on a knee and pulled the helmet completely free.

"Mother of FUCK!" she shouted, lurching back.

"Regan!" Hawke was at her side in an instant, a ward thrown up in front of them for protection. "What is it?"

She stared at the expanding pool of blood, inching its way toward her. She shook violently all over and she felt every ounce of her own blood drain from her face, leaving her feeling cold and numb. "That's David," she gasped, clinging to Hawke's arm tightly. The Warden was wearing the face of her brother-in-law. Same dark curls of hair, same brown eyes, same messy stubble on his jaw and neck. She didn't get it. She didn't get any of it. Hallie was enough of a surprise, but David? Why would David be in Thedas with-?

A heartbroken scream split the air. Regan shot back to her feet to see where it had come from.

Every atom of Regan's physical existence froze immediately. She could feel the heat of sweat and exertion radiating from her skin. She could feel the steady rise and fall of her calculated breaths. Her heartbeat felt as heavy as a hammer on an an anvil. Her knees shook and threatened to crumble under her. All in an instant, her vision tunneled, her blood turned to ice, and every single instinct was telling her that every single thing was absolutely wrong. More wrong than she had ever felt in her life. Hell, even more wrong than the morning she woke up and had one less leg than the day before.

"Holland," she breathed, a sob torn from her chest along with the name.

Her baby sister stood at the end of the battlements, clad in the telltale blue and silver of the Grey Wardens. Her hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, but several strands had escaped, plastered to her neck or face by sweat. She held a staff in one hand and the fractured crystal at the top pulsed brightly. A white-hot fire was licking its way up her free arm from her hand. She was staring at her husband's lifeless body on the ground, but her gaze soon turned to Regan herself. Her eyes blazed with that same fire. They held searing hatred and mountains of sorrow.

 _Please,_ Regan prayed quietly. _Don't make me. Not Holland._ She swallowed thickly and picked up her swords once again. "Inquisitor," she said firmly, tightening her grip on her weapons. The flagstones around Holland's feet were cracking like glass. Regan could almost taste the magic in the air. "I suggest you continue on without me. It seems I have some family business to take care of."

Lyanna stepped forward. "Regan-"

"Please, Inquisitor." Regan looked down at her feet. _Let me wake up. Let it all be a dream. Or let me be dead and this be my punishment. Don't make me do this. Please._ "I may not be one of your advisors, but you should consider my advice carefully, right now. Leave." The Inquisitor looked like she was about to argue, but Regan broke, shouting, "Go! Now!" No sooner had the words left her mouth when Holland charged. Regan shoved Lyanna out of the way and took the hit of force magic straight in the chest, launching her back nearly twenty feet. She managed to keep her head from smacking the ground, but the rest of her was none too fortunate. She groaned and rolled on her side. "Inquisitor, please!" she begged. "Leave, _now!"_ To her relief, Lyanna gave her a grim look and a curt nod, gesturing for the others to follow her.

 _"You murdered him!"_ Holland screeched, hauling Regan up by the collar her clothes and armor.

"Holland!" Regan shouted in her face. "It's me! Regan! Your older sister!" With a shout, Holland threw her back down, cracking the stone beneath her. Regan gasped and groaned again, rolling away and staggering to her feet. Her swords were on the other side of Holland.

"Half sister," she heard the twin snarl.

_"Fuck."_

Moving like lightning, Holland tackled Regan, pinning her arms down swiftly, but Regan managed to get a foot up and throw her overhead. They both got back to their feet, but Holland was more willing to bear her weapons than her older sister was. As her staff swung wildly in her direction, Regan jumped back to avoid them.

"It was an accident, Holland!" she shouted, tears welling up in her eyes. "He was trying to kill me!"

She'd never seen such fury on Holland's unmarred features before. "Your precious Inquisition is the one that felled our walls!"

"Take a fucking look around you! Blood magic and summoning demons? What the fuck?!"

"The Wardens only sacrifice what's necessary to protect this world!"

"By murdering innocents?!" Regan screamed. "By trusting those like Erimond and Corypheus?! The Inquisition is working to save the fucking world, not end it!"

"Believe what you want! I have a job to do!"

"So do I," Regan grumbled, gripping her swords tightly.

They started their deadly dance. Regan could only jump away from Holland's magic and deflect what she could off of her swords or bracers. Nothing could be done about the force magic, and she took more than one mountainous shove from an unseen magic. Holland was great at turning herself just right so that Regan's blades graced off of the silverite scales of her armor instead of piercing through them to wound her. Willingly trying to hurt her baby sister as hard as she was hurt Regan like a white-hot iron down her throat, but what was she supposed to do? Let Holland tear her apart in anguish for killing her husband?

Pain exploded across every inch of her face as Holland swung the blade end of her staff up. Regan reeled, stumbling away without accidentally pitching herself off the battlements. She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth and found blood dripping down her glove. The left side of both her top and bottom lip started swelling and throbbing. Holland screamed, charging her again, but Regan caught the blade of her staff with her own swords, scowling through the pain.

"You'd murder your own sister?" Regan seethed.

Holland cocked her head. "Would you?"

Regan shoved her away, practically snarling as she steeled herself for another round.

_"Holland!"_

They both froze in place, whirling around toward the source of the voice they both recognized all too well. Hallie stood where Regan had first come from, bow in one hand, the other curled into a fist. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. Her face was pale where it wasn't mottled from the day's exertions. She took tentative steps toward the two of them.

"Holland," she repeated. "What are you doing?"

"Avenging my husband," her twin growled.

"I mean here, Hol. What are you doing here? A Grey Warden? What happened to that plan you had to grow old with David, watching your grandkids play while you two enjoyed retirement?" She smirked. "Or did I just make that all up to tease you for getting married as early as you did?"

Holland stared at her, and Regan's heart broke all over again. She had the perfect view of Holland's profile, but she could see her eyes too. Green eyes that were once bright and full of life. Now, they were empty. Hollow. Devoid of the vibrancy they'd once held. "This is all that makes sense anymore, Hal," Holland declared. "What else is there?"

"Me," Hallie stated without hesitation. "Regan. A life with the Inquisition. A chance to forget about what could have been and focus on what we have, right here and now." She slowly got on one knee and set her bow on the ground. "Please, Holland."

The world continued on around them. Death paid them no mind, but it was happening all around. Wardens, dying. Inquisition soldiers, dying. Regan could feel it edging closer to them. Chaos wouldn't be halted forever. They had to make their decisions, and quickly. Tears fell from Holland's eyes. She shook her head slowly, looking at both of them. Wisps of blue magic emanated from her palms and crept up her arms. The stone at the end of her staff pulsed with a growing intensity. Regan's heart went stone cold and dropped to a depth so deep she wasn't sure she'd ever feel it beat again.

"I've already made up my mind," Holland said, driving her staff forward and striking Hallie with a bolt of magic, throwing her back.

 _So have I._ Regan surged forward, wielding her swords like a whirlwinds at the ends of her arms. Instinct took over and she, unfortunately for her sanity, no longer saw her baby sister. She just saw another Warden in the way of saving the fucking world. Of stopping a demon army from marching across Thedas. Holland lurched back, pulling her staff in two and a second blade was unsheathed. Regan jumped back to the ramparts, jumping off them for leverage, but Holland crossed her blades, catching her on her breastplate and throwing her overhead to the ground. She rolled out of the way and gasped as the two blades struck the ground where she had been. An arrow zinged between them and the both looked up. Hallie was scowling down the shaft of another arrow, but she was trembling horribly. Her bottom lip quivered and she was panting heavily. _She can't,_ Regan realized. She inwardly cursed whatever god had decided to curse her.

All her life, Regan tried to do good. She joined the army, served her country. She even published a book to educate others about it. All she had ever wanted afterwards was quiet. A quiet, calm, content life. She wanted life to be safe and predictable. She wanted to know what tomorrow would bring or what she was going to be doing that day. Even so, it seemed she would never be allowed a luxury such as her wants. Life was determined to throw the unpredictable at her, the violent and chaotic. The unknown and the unique.

She ducked as Hallie swung her blades wide, springing up and driving her shoulder into Holland's middle, but she only grabbed the back of her jacket and threw her aside. Regan cried out as she felt the harsh slice of one of the two blades digging into her left side, just under her ribs.

"Was this your plan?" Holland snarled, pulling her close and pressing the other blade to her throat. "Find me here and convince me of my wrongs in hopes that-" She screamed and dropped to her knees, releasing Regan. An arrow was sticking out of her shoulder, giving Regan the few seconds she needed to get to a safe distance away and drop to a knee, dropping a sword to hold her side tenderly. She could feel her warm blood soaking her clothes and padding from her wound. The cut on her lips was doing the same, leaving a river of blood down her neck and disappearing below her neckline. Holland rose to her feet and turned her back on Regan to face her twin. "I know you won't kill me, Hal," Holland declared loudly, spreading her arms. "I'm your twin sister. We shared everything. A room. Our clothes. Our secrets."

She took a deep breath. "David's body is right over there! I'd say he still a bit warm! But he's dead! And I have nothing left to lose!" She reconnected her staff and pointed it at Hallie. The blue light faded, then returned, scarlet and brighter than before. Regan squeezed her eyes shut as a sob tore itself from the deepest part of her soul. _Don't make me,_ she begged once again, gritting her teeth as tight as she could. In the distance, she could still hear Holland talking, and Hallie's broken responses, but she took in none of it. She tried to think of her saying, her mantra that kept her grounded to the world, but it was worthless to her in the moment. How could a few words save her from what she had to do. If she was religious, she might have prayed, but she only wanted one person to hear her words, even if she couldn't bear to say them aloud.

_Holland. I love you. You and Hallie are the light of my life. I'm sorry. For everything, I'm so sorry._

She allowed one final sob to escape her before tightening her grip on her remaining sword and driving the point against the ground to use it as leverage to help her to her feet. Her stomach churned violently. Her head swam and her vision tunneled. Nothing made sense to her anymore, save one thing. One that Regan had to destroy herself to save, and she had to do it willingly.

"We're saving this world!" Holland screeched, sounding everything but sane. She still had her back to Regan.

_I love you._

Regan stumbled forward, her legs weak, but her arms steeled. Over Holland's shoulder, she saw Hallie thrust out a hand, crying out in protest. Holland whirled around, but not soon enough. Regan screamed as she drove her sword up with everything she had, piercing through the silverite scales of the Grey Warden armor, and then some. Muscle, tissue, then the back of the armor. The end of the sword reappeared, painted red. The hilt pushed against Holland, blood spilling over it and Regan's hand, warm and cursed. Holland's staff clattered to the ground and she grabbed weakly at Regan, gasping. Regan was sobbing again, bringing her fingers up to brush against Holland's cheek, staring into those deep green eyes. Eyes that were fading more than they already had. She yanked her sword free of her sister and held her tightly, both of them on the brink of collapsing.

"I'm sorry," Regan gasped. She pressed her forehead to Holland's chest and freely sobbed. "I'm sorry, Hol..." She felt a hand pet her hair down tentatively.

"I'll see him again," Holland murmured in her ear. "David. My love..."

Regan's knees gave. They fell against the ground in a heap, breaking apart. Regan landed on her back, staring at the tainted sky. She felt empty. Robbed. Hallie rushed toward them, pulling her twin into her arms, begging her to stay. Her words were useless. Mage she may be, but Holland couldn't heal a wound so unforgiving.

And nothing would heal the wound Regan had just dealt herself.

But she was damned to survive, she knew.

After all, Washington had promised her.


	15. can and cannot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition finishes up their business at Adamant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bet yall thought I'd died, right?
> 
> sike

_What may we chant, O thou within this tomb?_  
_What tablets, outlines, hang for thee, O millionaire?_  
_The life now lived'st we know not,_  
_But that thou walk'dst thy years in barter, 'mid the haunts of brokers,_  
_Nor heroism thine, nor war, nor glory._

_\- Walt Whitman_

\---

Hallie was screaming at Regan to get up, but she couldn't hear the specific words. All she could hear was a sharp ringing in her ears, like metal continuously ripping apart. Her blood felt ice cold beneath her skin, and she was still bleeding a little from her wounds Holland had dealt her. She tried to focus, tried to make a mental assessment of herself, but the screaming in her head was too loud. Hallie pulled her to her feet, throwing an arm over her shoulder to drag her along. Things were blurred together, like a bad movie effect. She saw the grey of the fortress, the yellow and orange of fires burning, the deep red of cooling blood on the ground. She spotted Holland's red hair among the red of her blood, the blue of her uniform, and the silver of her armor. Regan's insides lurched and she pulled away from Hallie, dropping to her hands and knees and emptying her stomach on the battlements.

Her sister dropped to her knees beside her, gripping her shoulders tightly and forcing her up to look at her. "Regan, listen to me," she said strongly. "I get it. Fucking hell, Holland was my twin. But we can talk about it later. _Later,_ Regan. We need to go. We still have a job to do, and if we stay here, we are _going_ to die." She shook her roughly. "Regan, please!"

"She's right, you know."

Regan looked up and almost passed out. Washington was standing just behind Hallie, dressed up in his full combat getup like she'd last seen him in, holding a grim look on his face. She shut her eyes and shook her head. _No. Not him. Wash is dead. Wash died back home, and he took my leg with him._

"Yeah, I'm dead, Galloway," he snapped, getting low and in her face. "But you're the one that's gonna join me and Amira if you don't get the fuck up."

"Don't say her name!" Regan shouted at him, tears burning her eyes. "You don't have the right-!"

"I don't have the _right?"_ He scoffed and gripped her upper arm painfully hard. "I have every fucking goddamn right to mention Amira!"

Regan pressed her hands to her face, no doubt painting her skin with blood. She shook her head, crying. "Just stop...please..."

 _"Regan!"_ Hallie pressed.

 _"Get the fuck up!"_ they both screamed in her face.

\---

_June 18th, 2008_

_"So, instead of going to Kenzie's graduation party...we're doing this?" Regan asked tentatively as Natalie's palomino, LB, trotted past her towards the back of her Miata._

_"Trail rides are a great way to relax on a hot day," Natalie called from in front of her horse, chuckling._

_The lead in Regan's hand was connected to Nat's second palomino, Randy. The only way to tell them apart was the fact that LB, which stood for "Little Bitch", was a hand or two shorter, and a little rounder around the middle. She also had a white streak running from her forehead to her nose, which was pink compared to Randy's darker one. LB was younger, a little more springy, and a bit of a bitch, as her name implied, so Natalie was more comfortable with Regan riding her older, more lazy horse for the trail ride._

_"You're right," Regan agreed, shrugging. "I heard from Ben that Jack was gonna show up, despite not being, you know,_ specifically invited to such a fucking gathering." _Nat laughed and lined up LB with the trunk of the Miata. Keeping a firm hand on the lead rope, she climbed on top of the trunk and slid into the saddle. Snickering at the dusty boot marks left on the trunk by her best friend, Regan also climbed up and carefully mounted Randy._

_"Want me to hold the 'Oh Shit Rope'?" Natalie asked, pointing at Randy's lead rope. If Randy took off for whatever reason, the "Oh Shit Rope" would keep Regan from taking a rather faster ride than either of them intended to take._

_Regan shook her head and pulled her sunglasses down from the hat she was wearing. "Nah, I'll keep my faith in this old man."_

_"Right-o, let's do it."_

This would be perfect material for a book, or something, _Regan found herself thinking as they started off down the mile-long gravel driveway of Natalie's driveway. She'd taken a few rides on Randy, and even got him to get up to a trot one time, but she was nowhere near comfortable atop him. The reins were the hardest part. They weren't connected, so it was a tad bit harder to keep them even. Randy would feel for which side felt more slack in order to know where to go, so it was probably confusing as all hell for him all due to Regan's inexperience._

_"Sooo..." Natalie drawled cautiously. "You were pretty adamant on not going to Kenzie's party solely based on the fact that Jack was gonna be there..."_

_Although Nat couldn't see her, Regan shrugged and made a face. "I don't know...he'd probably want to go back to his place or something cause his parents are out of town and...you know..."_

_"Ohhh!" Nat sighed. "The whole 'disappointing sex thing' you were talking to me about the other day." She glanced over her shoulder, her brows knit above her aviators. "That still going on?"_

_"You'd think I'd've come at least once, right?"_

_"Oh, totally!" she agreed without hesitation. "It sounds like your hands are doing a better job than his dick is." They both cracked up laughing. A thought raced through Regan's head, making her laugh harder, leaning over the horn of the saddle._

_"It's terrible 'cause it's true!" Regan cried, pressing a hand over her chest and letting out a delightful exhale._

_"Who else knows about you two?"_

_"Well, it's not like a mission of mine to keep our relationship a secret or anything, but you're the only one who knows that we hooked up on prom night a few weeks ago."_

_They rode in silence for a few more minutes. Regan took the time to think. She was still dating Jack, still saw him as her boyfriend, but she found herself questioning every part of it. In terms of being a gentleman, Jack was perfect. Always caring for her and making sure she was comfortable and happy. It was terribly sweet, but she loved it. The only problem was his confidence. Ever since they started dating, his confidence in his dating abilities had skyrocketed. Especially when it came to sex._

_At first it was no big deal, and she hung it all on nerves and anxiety of losing her virginity. She figured the rumors about the slim chance of women having an orgasm during first-time sex were true. What she didn't expect was disappointment after disappointment after disappointment._

_She snickered to herself._ I shouldn't be too hard on him, _she thought._ It's not like I told him, step by step, what I wanted him to do where. _She snickered again. "Maybe I should just go celibate," she called to Nat, who barked out a laugh._

_"Can you still masturbate if you do that?" she asked._

_Regan paused. "I'm not entirely sure!" They cracked up once again. "Sorry, I'll stop bringing up my sex life from now on. You can just go on assuming it's disappointing."_

_"No, I wanna hear! I do! I'm your best friend!"_

_Regan let out a frustrated sound. "I feel like such a moron, really. And naive." She took a moment to try and think of the right words to say. "It's easy to forget the disappointment and the big wants when you're convinced the little things are good enough. The hand-holding, the cuddling, the sweet nothings into each others' ears. But I guess you're fucked if you want more. Something..."_

_"Promising," Natalie provided. Regan nodded._

_They reached the open meadow of Natalie's property, which was about the size of two football fields put next to each other. All that was in it were long grasses and a bush here or there. Her dad, Peter, always kept a lovely mulched path winding through the meadow. The horses knew where to go; Regan and Natalie didn't even have to point them in the right direction. The buzzing and chirping of the bugs hidden in the grasses filled the silence that settled comfortably between the two friends. Blackbirds popped up and stood vigilantly on the taller, stronger grass. A rabbit darted across the path up ahead._

_"Sooo...you're working in town all summer?" Nat tried._

_"Working full and working out," Regan replied._

_"Same!" she laughed. "Hey, wanna get some ice cream?"_

_"Sure, we can take my car."_

_"Uh-uh, honey. We're going in style. Horseback bitches, bitch!" Nat kicked LB into a trot and up to a canter and took off down the trail._

_"Couldn't ask for a better friend," Regan said to herself, clicking her tongue sharply as she encouraged Randy to follow._

_\---_

Hallie pushed Regan's bangs away from her face so she could get one more good look at it. She wished she had the time to count the faint freckles that dotted her cheeks and nose. She was once again reminded how bright her blue eyes were. She tried to remember what Regan's smile looked like, but all she could see was her slackened expression on her unconscious face. She squeezed her close, letting out a strained sigh.

Wardens were gathering around them. And demons, of course. The cold dread of their impending deaths was like a slap to the face. The had been so confident they would somehow come out alive, but what had been their odds, really? Regan had gone with the Inquisitor and she had been with the Chargers. One was a band of mercenaries, and the other was with _the_ face of the Inquisition.

"Wanna go the beach after all this is over?" Hallie murmured against Regan's forehead, pressing a gentle kiss there. "We'll grab the old gang. Fiona, Nick, Rose, and maybe even Olee. How's that sound? We'll jump against the waves just like we used to do when we were kids. Sound fun?"

Regan stirred slightly. Her eyes were red from crying, but the blue still outshined it all. The corners of her mouth perked up just a tiny bit. "Sounds great," she muttered. "Only if we go to South Beach. North Beach is terrible."

Hallie kissed her forehead again. "You've got a deal, Re."

Regan's hand found hers and squeezed. "See you at the bar, Hal. I'm buying."

Hallie Galloway looked up to scowl at the Grey Wardens. When she had met Stroud, she had admired the sharp blue and silver of their armor. Now, however, she hated it. She hated every single one of them. She cursed at herself for following the Inquisition into their goddamn shitshow like a moron. Who was she kidding? She was just a gearhead with a hot temper. What was she doing in one of the most infamous battles of the Dragon Age?

 _Doesn't matter now,_ she concluded with a sigh.

Just as she was about to close her eyes and wait for the inevitable, a piercing screech cut through the air, followed by a distant whistling sound. All eyes looked to the sky in confusion save for Regan, who had passed out again. Another screech followed the second, but the source still couldn't be seen. The Wardens had lost interest in the sisters, turning their attention to the sky and what was hidden within. Faster than Hallie could blink, a white and grey blur shot out of the darkness, and landed on the battlements right in front of the sisters. A tail whipped just over her head.

"What the fuck?" someone blurted out.

Standing between the sisters and the Wardens was, impossibly, a fully grown griffon. Hallie was swearing up and down in her head. Griffons were a myth in their world, but they were _extinct_ in Thedas. _Extinct things don't just show up again!_ she screamed. _Especially not in the middle of a fucking siege!_

A woman jumped down from the saddle and landed with calm authority. Hallie could tell straight away that she wasn't to be messed with. The woman lifted her helmet off and shook free a thick wave of copper hair. "Wardens!" she barked. Every single one of them froze. Her voice, although feminine, cracked like a bull whip when it held the commanding tone she had just demonstrated. "I am Warden-Commander Callie Mahariel of Ferelden!" She glanced back and held a hand up to the griffon. "This is Vanguard." The griffon chirped loudly at the Wardens, tail whipping angrily. "I order you all to surrender your weapons and stand down!"

"Warden-Commander-!"

"NOW!"

Blades and staffs of all kind clattered against the stone. Some Wardens even removed their helmets, revealing shocked and scared faces, young and old ones alike. All Hallie could do was stare as Vanguard let out another shriek and Warden Mahariel approached her. "Are you alright?" she asked calmly, gripping Hallie's shoulder gently. She had dark green eyes, intense cheekbones, and a _vallaslin_ Hallie couldn't identify. Her custom set of Warden armor was hastily patched in some places and horribly scratched or dented in others.

"M-My sister," was all she could choke out.

Mahariel pushed Regan's hair away from her eyes and pressed open one of them. "She seems to have passed out from shock," she said. "Where is the Inquisitor?"

"I don't know. Regan was supposed to be with her, but..."

Mahariel let out a heavy sigh. "Well...I'll just follow the action, I suppose. But I'm not about to just leave you two here." She gestured for Hallie to set Regan down. She turned Regan face to both sides and her brows knit together. "Hope this works." She raised a flat hand and smacked Regan across the face with admirable force. Hallie's sister gasped sharply and her back arched as she was brought back to consciousness.

"Regan!" Hallie cried, cradling her sister's face and giving her a prolonged once over. "Can you hear me?"

"Yeah..." She let out a breath and made to get up with help from the two women. "How long was I out?"

"Not long. Oh...this is the Hero of Ferelden, I guess..."

"What!"

"Callie Mahariel," the woman introduced herself. "Where's the Inquisitor?"

Regan ran a hand through her hair. "I sent Inquisitor Lavellan away after..." She paused and shook her head. "She's looking for Warden-Commander Clarel, but I'm not sure where she is either."

"I'm sorry, but how the fuck do you have a griffon?!" Hallie snapped, unable to contain her curiosity.

Mahariel spared a moment to snicker. "Long story for sometime _not_ in the middle of siege." She whistled and gestured to Vanguard, who chirruped and took off, kicking up dirt and dust with his massive wingspan. "I'm gonna need some help. Are you guys up to it?"

Hallie looked to her sister. Her face was ashen and gaunt, like the life was seeping out of her slowly. She found Hallie's eyes and they shared a silent conversation in a few seconds. Regan wanted to keep going, but Hallie could tell she was debating whether or not she actually _could._ She wasn't sure of herself, in fact. She had just had her heart ripped out and torn to shreds in front of her, and now the fucking _goddamn Hero of Ferelden_ was asking them for their help.

"How can we say no?" she heard Regan say with a smirk on her face.

 _Army Regan,_ she thought. _Welcome back._

"Alright then," Mahariel noted. "Let's go find us a Warden-Commander."

\---

Lyanna shouldered through a door and found exactly what she _didn't_ want to find: Erimond and the Wardens moments away from completing their insane ritual.

 _"Wardens!"_ A woman Warden above the rest walked along the battlements. "We are betrayed by the very world we have sworn to protect.

Erimond rushed forward. "The Inquisition is inside, Clarel!" he snapped. "We have no time to stand on ceremony!"

"These men and women are giving their lives, magister," she argued. "That might mean little in Tevinter, but for the Wardens, it is a sacred duty." An older Warden approached the pair, and Clarel regarded him fondly. "It has been many long years, my friend," she greeted him.

He smirked and dropped to a knee. "Too many, Clarel. If my sword arm can no longer serve the Wardens, then my blood will have to do." Clarel unsheathed a knife, and before Lyanna could break out of her stupor and shout for her to stop, she muttered something to the older Warden and promptly slit his throat. Hot blood steamed in the cold air as it spilled to the ground in thick spurts. The man dropped like a rock in front of Clarel and Erimond, dead. The Tevinter magister himself spotted Lyanna and her team.

"Stop them!" he called, pointing. "We must complete the ritual!"

Lyanna shot an arm out, halting her team. She stepped forward and said, "Clarel, if you complete that ritual, you're doing exactly what Erimond wants!"

"What, fighting the Blight?" he challenged. "Keeping the world safe from darkspawn? Who wouldn't want that? And, yes, the ritual requires blood sacrifice. Hate me for that if you must, but do not hate the Wardens for doing their duty."

"We make the sacrifices no one else will," Clarel added. "Our warriors die proudly for a world that will never thank them."

"And then your Tevinter ally binds the mages to Corypheus!" Alistair shot back.

Clarel looked taken aback. "Corypheus? But he's dead."

"These people will say anything to shake your confidence, Clarel."The Warden-Commander pinched the bridge of her nose. Lyanna raised an eyebrow as the world held its breath. She prayed Clarel would see reason, that she would stop everything and surrender to the advancing army of the Inquisition. _Please-please-please,_ she begged.

"Bring it through."

 _"Fuck,"_ Lyanna cursed.

The mages circled up, raising their hands and ripping a hole though the Veil. Swirling green energy--almost like what happened when she used the Anchor--bled through and lingered in the courtyard. Something with too many eyes loomed just behind the window they had just opened, making Lyanna's heart race. Other Wardens drew their weapons and started approaching them with a murderous looking intent.

"I don't know about you, Clarel," she shouted, scrambling for anything in her mind that would help in her favor, "but I'm not entirely ready to let a damn demon army march across Thedas when I've risked far more than _my ass_ to keep it from turning to ashes!"

"I will not wait around for more attempts to corrupt the Warden-Commander's thoughts!" Erimond cut in, stamping his staff against the ground several times. A tainted roar echoed around the fortress and Lyanna cursed again, spotting the Archdemon swooping through the darkened clouds overhead.

"Watch it!" she shouted as her and her companions dove for cover as it spit its red lightning and fire upon the courtyard. "Can this day get any fucking worse! Honestly, I'd like to see it fucking try!"

"Don't fucking ask for that!" Hawke's voice yelled from out of sight. "You'd be surprised how fucked things can get!" The shattered remains of a griffon statue rained down on them and Lyanna threw her arms over her head. "See?!" Hawke snapped.

When the dust cleared, she spotted the Archdemon landing on a turret, roaring again. "Where's a fucking trebuchet when you need one?" she muttered, thinking back to Haven. A crack of lightning startled her and she spun to investigate. Clarel was towering over Erimond, who was sprawled on the ground. The Archdemon immediately snapped its attention to the pair, growling savagely. Lightning crackled in her hand and up her arm as she scowled back at it. Erimond held his hand out in protest. The world was once again holding its breath.

A screech sounded above the Archdemon before a blur of white shot out of the sky and landed heavily right behind its head, digging in claws as if they were freshly sharpened swords. All Lyanna and her party could do was stare as a griffon tore into the Archdemon. _A griffon._ She wasn't sure if her heart had stopped, or was simply beating too fast to feel anymore. There was a woman riding the damn thing, too, wielding a bow shooting arrow after arrow into the corrupted skin of the Archdemon.

 _"Help the Inquisitor!"_ came Clarel's voice, followed by a lightning bolt striking the Archdemon in the chest. It finally threw the griffon off, taking to the air once again. The griffon and its rider circled once before landing behind cover. The woman jumped off and rushed up to the Inquisitor. "Stay safe, Vanguard!" she shouted to the griffon as it took off once again.

 _"Crazy day, huh?"_ she asked in elvhen, surprising her. _"A fake Archdemon, a Tevinter magister, a griffon, and two Warden-Commanders in the same place."_ The woman was an elf with version of Andruil's _vallaslin._

"Pardon?" Lyanna choked out in a falsetto. "What do you mean by 'two Warden-Commanders'?" Even as she said it, she could clearly see the Warden-Commander badge the woman wore on her right shoulder, even if it was beat to hell.

The woman held out a hand, her green eyes shining along with her smile, despite the circumstances. "Warden-Commander Callie Mahariel of Ferelden. Good to see you've kept Ferelden nice and neat for me while I was gone." She glanced over their cover for a second, then pulled an arrow out of her quiver and nocked it. "That was sarcasm, in case you didn't pick up on it," she noted, jumping out and letting the arrow fly.

"Come on, kid!" Varric snapped from out of sight. "We've got demons to fight!"

 _"Elgar'nan,"_ she muttered, snatching up her staff and setting to work. Warden-Commander Mahariel was ducking through the chaos to reach Clarel. Regan and Hallie had appeared out of nowhere and were already busy with a Pride demon alongside Alistair. She couldn't help but notice that the third sister wasn't with them, but she couldn't spare any time to ponder. She made quick work of a few lesser demons before turning her attention to help the others with Pride.

 _"Clarel!"_ Mahariel's voice shouted.

"Cal?" Alistair said, looking up like someone she called his name instead. A Despair demon jumped at the distraction, but Lyanna blasted a hole through it with a bolt of magic. Alistair darted away, following the voice of his wife. Lyanna groaned loudly at how utterly unorganized things were becoming. Battles weren't terribly organized to begin with, she assumed, but this was just insanity.

\---

Regan couldn't feel her hands, despite the fact that they were still attached to her and without injury. The only way she could keep them from shaking like leaves was to grip her swords as tight as she could.

_Swords that carried the blood of her sister._

She screamed as she pulled them free from a Rage demon, watching it melt into a sputtering puddle. She looked just in time to see Clarel disappear behind a corner. Regan knew it made no sense to direct to fury and rage at the Warden-Commander, but she was at the head of the reason of why the Inquisition was at Adamant. She didn't care if she was from another world. She didn't care if she wasn't the best fighter in the Inquisitor's inner circle. She only wanted to see the blood from one more person, and that was Clarel.

Warden Mahariel had disappeared, and so had Vanguard, so Regan could assume they were keeping the Archdemon from messing with them. Alistair was still with them, but horribly frustrated. They were a mess of a team, and they knew it, but they didn't care. They were so close to ending it all, to going home where they could just _rest._

They found Clarel at the edge of the world. Where Adamant ended and the Abyss swallowed the rest. Clarel was the only thing standing between the Abyss and Erimond, who was curled up on the ground. It was all happening so fast that Regan only saw a handful of frames of several key actions.

"I will _never_ serve the Blight!" Clarel declared, screaming as she swung her staff and struck Erimond with a devastating wave of electricity.

The hair on the back of Regan's neck stood up. In all of a second, she was fully expecting Clarel to be snatched up by the Archdemon, but then it snapped away at the last second, crashing into the ledge behind their ragtag party, shaking the world. The ground jumped out from under Regan's feet, and the next thing she saw was stars. Her whole head seared with pain. She could feel the warm rush of blood flowing down past and into her right ear. She rolled on her side, groaning loudly and squinting to see. She could barely see Erimond on the ground, but there he was.

"Get up!" someone shouted, hauling her up. It was Hawke, dragging her along. "Maker...your head..."

_"Hawke!"_

"We're coming!" He ducked down and completely hauled her up in his arms.

"Christ, you're strong," she mumbled, chuckling weakly as he hurried along.

"Compliment me when we get out of here-- _shit!"_ Hawke st umbled, spilling Regan out of his arms. She screamed in pain as her body hit the stone once again. "Fuck!" He grabbed her arms and simply started dragging her. "Come on Regan, _come on!"_

_I don't see what the big deal-_

Quite suddenly, there was no more ground beneath her, and she was falling. Her head was still swimming and she wasn't sure which way was up or down, but she was _pretty sure_ her feet were facing down, and Hawke was up, holding onto her still. She managed to find enough strength to grip his arm as well as fear leaked into her veins. Fear that was poisoned into terror. She looked up and squeezed open an eye. Hawke was holding on to an edge.

Down was the Abyss.

"Christ alive," she gasped, reaching so she could hold onto Hawke with her other arm as well.

 _"Hawke! Regan!"_ Hallie's head appeared over the edge, her red hair flying like a flag in the wind. "Fucking shit!" She grabbed Hawke's arm and started pulling.

"Stop!" he yelled, grimacing. "Otherwise we'll slip."

"Can you pull Re up?"

To his credit, Hawke tried, but it was probably like trying to lift a ship's anchor. "I can't. You're gonna need help, Hallie."

"There is none!" she shouted desperately. "Re..."

Despite... _everything..._ Regan smiled. Or she tried to, at least. "I wouldn't worry about me too much, Hal," she said. Her vision was blurred by blood and tears. "Just tell Cullen I'm not gonna be back in time."

"Don't you fucking-"

"Regan-"

Regan Galloway pried Hawke's fingers away from her arm and kicked off from the wall.

Into the Abyss.


	16. bring it on bitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the plan shot to hell, the Inquisitor struggles to face up to the challenges the Fade has for her

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIVE!!!

The morning light shining through the canvas of the tent was bathing the inside in orange and yellow, but Regan turned away from it nonetheless. She turned toward the warm chest of her husband sleeping next to her. She grinned when his arm came around her and squeezed her for a moment.

"Morning," he mumbled as he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.

"Morning," she echoed just as sleepily, kissing his chin in return. "You came back pretty late. My cousins play nice?"

"Josh went on and on and  _on_  about his potato business...thingy." She giggled at his simple vocabulary. "Nick was a little more interesting when he was talking about his...canoe made of concrete? Did I hear that right, or was I too drunk?"

She giggled again. "Yeah, he really did that. Don't ask me how, 'cause I'm still not sure on that part. But they  _did_  win the race." She wiggled out of his grip to stretch, hearing the familiar pops in both of her feet and her right shoulder. "Sleep well?"

"Next to you? My wonderful wife? Always." She swatted him on the arm, snickering. "You?"

"Amira  _insisted_  on staying up to keep 'helping' Michelle play Yahtzee with the others, so she's sleeping in the RV with her. After that?" She finally opened her eyes, greeted by the sight of her husband, Cullen Rutherford. "Like a baby. Especially when you stumbled in here and tripped over literally  _every single thing_  trying to get under the blankets." Cullen groaned excessively and rolled on his back, draping his arm over his eyes and smirking. "You were like a blindfolded patient just out of surgery and still high on painkillers."

"That's an interesting analogy."

Regan rolled over and checked her phone, sighing in relief when she saw they still had some time to lounge around. Cullen rolled with her, his bare chest pressing against her own bare back. She snickered again and glanced over her shoulder at him, raising an eyebrow. "Can I help you?" she asked, smirking knowingly.

His hand skimmed under the covers, all across her skin, leaving shivers in his wake. "Maybe..." he murmured as he lowered his lips to her neck. She let out a soft sigh, angling her head to give him more room. "Maker, but you're beautiful..."

She was practically squirming beneath him, and flinched back against him and his hardening length when his fingers finally reached their destination between her thighs. Her toes curled. Her breath quickened. Her blood was hot and singing for more. She bit her lip to keep her volume down. It wasn't like she wanted to announce to her entire extended family that she was getting a delightful dose of morning sex. The thought made her chuckle.

"Funny, is it?" he asked. She could feel his lips pull into a smile as he continued to work on the sensitive skin on her neck and behind her ears. His fingers pressed more firmly against her clit, drawing a quieted squeak from her, then one a tad bit louder when they slipped into her. "Maker, you feel amazing. You always do."

"Christ, Cullen," she breathed, distracted by far too many things to worry about what he was saying. The slow movement of his hand, his lips writing love letters against where he knew it would make her writhe with pleasure, and all while she was being wedged up against his tented boxers. "You're...you're ridiculous, you know that, right?"

"I try," he chuckled.

"Try to tease me until I'm tempted to push you away and finish myself off?" she threatened, regretting it as soon as he halted his attention towards her.

"By all means," he taunted,, "go ahead."

"Damn you, Cullen. Please, just touch-" She clamped one hand over her mouth and threw the other back to dig into the covers near his waist. He had resumed thrusting his fingers in and out of her, even adding a third, and worried her clit with his broad thumb.

"Touch you like that?" He mouthed against the shell of her ear. All she could do was nod and swallow a wanton moan of pleasure. Their hips were moving in tandem. A slow, steady rhythm that gained speed after time. His hand wove through her hair draped over her shoulder and yanked her head back, taking advantage of the angle and ravishing her neck with his mouth. Pleasure rocketed through her, settling deep within her. Her spine arched and she gasped sharply as she clenched around his fingers. Her heart was running rampant throughout her chest. She could even feel the heavy rush of her blood spread across her face and ears, could feel the heat that was now radiating off her.

"If anyone asks why we're late for breakfast..." Regan panted, smiling widely, "I'm blaming you." She gasped sharply once again when he thrusted into her in one smooth stroke without warning.  _"Cullen!"_

"And tell them what, Re?" he breathed against her skin. "That your husband took advantage of the fact that we woke up early and decided to have sex rather than make said breakfast?" He picked up the pace of his thrusts, keeping a tight grip on her hip and her hair. Regan just hoped that nobody would hear them. She could handle teasing, but not those stupid awkward side glances.  _Yes, I wanted to fuck in a tent at least once during this vacation. Sue me._  She cursed once again, writhing beside Cullen. His hand skimmed up her stomach before gripping one of her breasts, squeezing fondly.

"Love...love you..." Cullen gasped, pulling her earlobe between his teeth and sending her once more over the edge. She kept a firm grip over her mouth, else wake the whole campsite up with something close to a scream of pleasure.

And thirty minutes later, they were satisfied, showered, and sitting down at a picnic table at Site 8, waiting for the girls to get up and dressed.

"Mom!" Amira shouted, running up from the door of the RV.

"Little miss!" Regan responded, picking her up with a grunt. "You're heavy! How was the RV?"

"Good. Michelle is getting dressed."

"More like still waking up," came a sleepy voice though the screen door of the RV.

Regan set Amira down on the picnic table bench between Cullen and her. Cullen leaned over in between sips of coffee and kissed her on her head. "Hi, Daddy."

"Little troublemaker," he chuckled, ruffling her blonde curls.

A redhead ducked down and firmly hugged Regan from behind. "Morning, lovebirds," Hallie quipped. She paused and pointed at Amira. "Little miss who hogs beds, how are you?" Amira giggled infectiously and Hallie smiled back. She wandered over to where the coffee machine was set up on a table outside the RV. "Cullen, I could hear you snoring from three sites over." She glanced over her shoulder. "Or was that you, Regan?"

"Probably both of us," Cullen teased into his mug, snorting when Regan leaned over their daughter and swatted his arm.

Hallie crouched down next to Regan, careful of her coffee, and snickered quietly. "Krem doesn't snore, but goddamn, I was fucking roasting in our tent last night when-"

Regan held up a finger. "Imma stop you right there, dear sister of mine," she said, a smile creeping up on her lips. "One more word, and I'm flipping your inner tube later when we get to the river."

"I was keeping it PG!" she laughed, standing back up and finding the nearest lawn chair to relax into.

"Speaking of, where is he?"

"Showers. Any word on breakfast?"

Regan turned and looked down the gravel path of the campground. "Looks like none of the boys are up. And Karen's pop-up still has its curtains drawn." She looked the other way. "John and Tina are still in their tent, which means they're probably hungover."

"Your family sure knows how to camp," Cullen teased again.

"And proud of it!" Michelle called from inside the RV. She yawned and straightened her shirt as she stepped out. Michelle, Regan's cousin, was ten years younger than her, one of the youngest Galloway grandkids. She was spunkier than most of them, and was great with kids. "Joy and Sarah are taking care of breakfast down at Uncle Joel's campsite. They like his setup better, I guess."

"I'll go give them a hand," Cullen offered. "Wanna help, Mira?" Amira nodded and jumped up, taking off down the path to Site 12. Cullen sighed and ran a hand down his face. "When did she get so fast?"

"Three months ago, when she turned eight," Regan laughed. "Good luck, hon." She accepted a kiss on her cheek and watched fondly as her daughter and husband ventured down the path.

"You guys are so romantically vanilla it's actually making me nauseous," Hallie sighed. She was sitting sideways in the lawn chair, looking like a recovering hungover drunk with her sunglasses on and her coffee in her lap. 

"Excuse me for being straight," Regan chuckled. She looked over at Michelle. "Wanna grab the dogs and go for a quick walk before breakfast is ready?"

"Oh, you know it," she grinned. "I'm not even wearing proper pants, but let's do it."

They made their way to Site 10, where their Aunt Sue was standing outside her pop-up camper, stretching her arms overhead and yawning. She wordlessly greeted them and left to go get some coffee, probably. She had offered to let the dogs sleep in her camper, since she had more than enough room for all five of them. As soon as Regan opened the door, Lucy and Cherry shot to their feet, wiggling with excitement. They clipped their leashes on and off they went.

Merric State Park had been the site of Galloway family camping for over twenty years. It was right on an offshoot of the Mississippi River, so the water was always fresh and moving, and absolutely perfect for more than a few water sports. The only catch was that the mosquitoes were less than favorable, and it was overly humid from time to time, so there was always an abundance of box fans and high deet percentage bug spray.

Regan used her free hand to rub her forehead. "Headache?" Michelle asked. She grinned. "Drink too much last night?"

She shook her head. "Nah..." Cherry stopped and looked back at the two for a moment before catching up with Lucy. "I don't know. Maybe I should just drink some water."

"On your left!" a woman shouted, passing them at a full sprint. "Excuse me!" Lucy barked after her. Michelle and Regan just stared. The woman slowed to a stop down at the bend in the road and turned around, facing them. "Let. Her. Go!" she shouted, pointing somewhere past them. They turned around as well, but saw nothing. No one.

"I think _she's_ the one who had too many to drink last night," Michelle muttered. "Maybe even this morning..."

"You've held onto her long enough, Sloth! Now, LET. HER. _GO!"_

Regan squeezed her eyes shut as her head throbbed harder. "Jesus, let's just go get some breakfast so we can get away from this lunatic," she muttered.

Michelle, however, didn't follow when she started to walk again. She folded her arms and leaned on one leg. "I think...she's talking to you, Regan. Or _about_ you."

"Yes! Regan! That's your name!" The woman ran back up to them and grasped Regan's wrists roughly. "You need to wake up! All of this?" She gestured around them. "Sloth is trying to keep you happy, but you can still break free if you listen closely."

"Hey, get away from her!" Michelle shouted, grabbing the woman's shoulder and shoving her back. "What the hell is wrong with you?" All Regan could do was stand there, dumbfounded.

The woman backed off, pointing. "Your name is Regan Lynn Galloway. Your sister's names are Hallie and Holland. Your father is James Galloway and your mother is Linda O'Hailey. Your favorite color is midnight blue and you cried twice in one night from laughing too hard when you were nineteen." She looked around, like she was expecting a train to come screaming out of the woods and plow them down any second. "Look, you're mortal, and it's even hard for mages to break free of a demon's grasp." She grinned wickedly. "Luckily..." She looked Regan up and down before promptly punching her in the face.

\---

Regan came to the image of a warped, melded face belonging to Sloth. She shouted in surprise and fear and pushed it off of her, scrambling to her feet. Her swords were gone, and her knife was missing from its sheath. She skittered backwards, unsure of what else to do as Sloth reared up in anger and swung around to face her. She gasped and tripped over something, falling flat on her back. Sloth lunged at her and she blindly reached out her hands until her left came back with something in it. She jabbed it up and smashed the demon in the face, giving her a few seconds to scoot backwards until she backed up against a large boulder.

In her hand was a shard of twisted, crystalline blue lyrium. The top came to a point, Desperate, she grasped it with her dominant hand and brought it up just in time to stab Sloth in the face instead. It screeched and exploded backwards, clawing at its own face in agony. Regan's heart raced with the same terror, burning in her chest. Sloth crumbled to the ground, making all sorts of inhuman sounds. She pushed herself to her feet, breathing heavily.

 _I'm still here,_ she growled at the world--the very _universe_ for convincing her that she was ready to die. She put her hands on her knees and tried to catch her breath. She tried to think of what she knew for certain. She was still alive, that was a given. She was in the Fade. _That's new._ Someone or something had convinced her to not only keep living, to give a shit, but had also saved her. _She_ didn't do shit. What had even been her name, and why had she known so much about her past? She felt this icy hot surge under her skin, settled deep within her chest, almost like heartburn. she clutched at her jacket there, shaking her head.

She, of course, had more questions than answers. How in the everliving fuck did she manage to find herself in the Fade? She wasn't a Theodosian, but she damn well knew that the only recorded instance of that ever happening was when the ancient Tevinter Magisters tainted the Golden City. What had happened to the others, the ones that had fallen as well? Or had any of them even followed her? Was she alone? Why wasn't she dead? How was she going to get out? Was there even a way to get out? She took a hard look around. The ground looked bleak, dusty, and utterly out of place. Strange formations jutted out of the ground like a wrong jigsaw pieces. She pushed her hair back and tried to think.

The ring of magic interrupted her solitude. She spun on her feet in the direction it had come from and started off that way, frowning at the overly convenient path that was punched through the groundwork of the Fade. The sounds of fighting got louder as she navigated the winding paths. She passed all sorts of things she would have loved to look at, but couldn't stop to do so. She kept her footing on a downward path and came upon a fight between a pack of lesser demons and two people she knew: Hawke and Dorian. Two mages, back to back, swirling magic around them as a combined force.

She had just raised a hand to shout when she suddenly doubled over, that burning feeling increasing in her chest. The edges of her vision blurred white and blue, suddenly blinding her. The heat shot through every vein in her body and she cried out in pain. She felt an essence peeling away all that was Regan and replacing it with something new, something potent and powerful. When she looked up again, the world had gotten a nice rinsing shine on it, and she suddenly felt like she was sitting in the back seat of her own body. A strange adrenaline rush infected her. On instinct, she shot a hand out, screaming in both excitement and horror as lightning exploded from her palm and vaporized two Rage demons at once. She squealed in excitement and jumped in the air like a little girl.

"Oh, Regan," Hope breathed, mouth split in a wide smile. "Your instincts are fantastic! And such purity in your magic!"

"Regan?!" Dorian shouted as him and Hawke finished up their business.

"Nope!" she responded brightly. "I mean...yes? No and yes. Yes and no." She sprinted up to him, turning her head every which way to see every angle of Dorian's chiseled face. She straightened up suddenly and stuck out her hand. "I'm Hope!" she almost shouted. "Regan's here...somewhere, but it's harder for her here."

Hawke wiped at his mouth and set his hands on his hips. "What the hell are you talking about, Regan?" He shook his head and raised his voice. _"How the fuck did you just shoot lightning from your fingers, Regan?! And your eyes are glowing blue!"_

"Hope!" she corrected him. "I can't be Regan, and Regan can't be me."

While Hawke continued to scowl at her and her vague explanation, Dorian squinted at her. "Hang on," he said, holding up a finger. "Sudden magical abilities aside... You're not Regan?" She shook her head, still smiling. "But Regan's...here?"

"Right here!"

Hawke's expression changed on a dime, from frustration to shock. "A spirit?" he asked. She nodded enthusiastically. "So..." Hawke shifted his hands this way and that. "How?"

"Oh, she needed a little help with Sloth, so I thought this might be a good idea." She features fell. "Regan doesn't have a lot of hope. That's why it was so easy for Sloth." She shrugged. "Honestly, I wasn't completely sure she was going to survive the joining." She giggled. "It was a pretty rough ride!"

"Fascinating," Dorian noted.

"Fucked up," Hawke said promptly. He shook his head again. "Wait, wait! Back up!" He pointed dejectedly at her. "What's with the lightning? Why can you do magic?"

"Regan always could," she simply stated. "She has an incredible resolve. Her body and mind had never been pushed so far in this world to reveal her hidden abilities. Regan can stare Death in the face and ask him out for drinks." She took a deep breath. "I could try and explain this all day, but we should go find the others," Hope suggested. "They're around here somewhere. Then, we get you guys out and back on the other side of the Veil, where you belong."

\---

"Hey." A gloved finger tapped on her forehead. "Come on, Inquisitor, this is no place to take a nap. Up you get."

Lyanna groaned loudly as Warden Mahariel helped her sit up slowly. Every bit of her hurt, like one big sore muscle. Her mana was practically at its fizzling end, and she had a throbbing headache she figured wasn't going to ease up any time soon. Had it not been for Mahariel's firm hand at the small of her back, she would have simply flopped back into the dirt and passed out, exhausted. "What happened?" she muttered.

"You happened, Inquisitor," the Warden said. "I fell behind you and saw it all. You ripped the Fade open with that little firework in your hand." She smirked. "I'm not a mage, but even I know that's pretty impressive. It was like nothing I've ever seen before." She chuckled. "And _I'm_ the damn Hero of Ferelden, supposedly."

Lyanna tried to piece together what Mahariel was telling her. "I... We're in the Fade? Physically, not just our minds?"

"Correct. And it looks like we're the only ones around here, but I'm pretty sure that Alistair, Dorian, Hawke, and Regan fell as well." She hauled Lyanna to her feet and patted her on the shoulder. "I'm sure we'll run into them. The Fade has a way of doing that."

"Doing what?"

The Hero of Ferelden frowned, ruining her whole easygoing demeanor. "Of bringing things together. Trust me, we'll find them."

They started down the clearest path, and walked for quite a while, dodging demons and lesser spirits until they heard Hawke's telltale tone.

"If this is the afterlife, the Chantry owes me an apology!" he was shouting. "This looks nothing like the Maker's bosom!" Following his statement was a crack of lightning, but Lyanna could immediately tell that it hadn't come from the Champion. Hawke's magic felt like a river on fire. Fluidity alongside destruction and power. Whoever had cast felt entirely different. Much hotter, and potent as all hell. If she wasn't being serious, she would say that it felt like the burn of Bull's strongest drink. They broke into a run to catch up to the action. While Mahariel joined in without hesitation, Lyanna froze.

Instead of two mages, one warrior, and one dual-wielder, they found one warrior and _three_ mages. Her jaw dropped as she watched Regan slide under Dorian's arm on her knees and toss an arc of lightning at a Rage demon. She immediately drew her swords and cut another one in half with impossible grace. Had it not been for the glowing eyes and grimacing face, she would have looked like a dancer. Hawke and Dorian combined their magic and set a Pride demon aflame. Lyanna's fingers twitched toward her staff, but she couldn't get the idea out of her head.

 _Since when is Regan a mage?_ she screeched in her head, finally getting her feet to move after the fighting was over with.

"Thanks for helping, Inquisitor," Hawke grumbled, shouldering his staff and glancing around. "Oh, great, now we gotta deal with this..." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the two Wardens. Their weapons were scattered to the ground. Mahariel was in Alistair's arms, legs completely locked around his waist. His fingers grasped at her tattered jacket tightly. They could only see the back of Mahariel's head, but there was no mistaking the fact that they were completely sealed at their lips. Blushing slightly, but rolling her eyes, she turned to Regan, who was holding up her swords and examining them.

"What in the hello is up with her?" she hissed to Dorian. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Normally, I'd be more excited," he sighed. "You know me. I love dabbling. But I wouldn't say it's been easy since Hope showed up."

"Hope?"

"Yes?" Regan answered, looking over. She grinned and sheathed her swords. "Inquisitor! She thought you were dead!"

"'She'?"

"Regan. She knows you fell too."

Dorian cleared his throat. "Let me explain it simply: Regan's bonded with a spirit of Hope, and she's currently riding back in the carriage while Hope runs the ropes. Also, it turns out that Regan's a mage. Hope mentioned something about that."

She nodded. "Regan was far too...controlled. Letting go of Hawke was like letting go of her control. Then...magic. Pretty simple."

Lyanna froze. Her ears went hot and her pulse picked up. "No!" she snapped. "No, it's not _simple!_ People don't just _become_ mages at the age of...of..."

"Twenty-eight," Hope supplied, unaffected by Lyanna's new tone.

"Twenty-eight!" she repeated, louder. "We're in the Fade! We don't know how to get home! And the fucking Hero of Ferelden just decided to swoop out of the sky on the back of a Creators-damned _griffon!_ Nothing about this is simple!"

"Hey, his name is Vanguard!" Lyanna pressed her palms over her eyes and groaned loudly. They all took a step back and a moment to themselves. The two Wardens talked too quiet for them to hear, but Lyanna wasn't troubled. They had spent the past two years of their marriage separated. They deserved more than a moment, despite the current situation. Lyanna tried to gather what she knew in her head, but the shock of everything was still fresh in her mind. Her blood was still hot and running from the battle back in Adamant. Terror still lingered from the Archdemon and her fall.

"The Fade looks a bit different from when I was here last," Hawke noted. "I was in the Gallows, not...whatever this is."

Dorian chimed in. "The first time I entered the Fade, it looked like a lovely castle filled with gold and silks. I met a marvelous Desire demon, as I recall. We chatted and ate grapes until he tried to possess me."

"I'm surprised it didn't try sooner," Hope chuckled. "Though, Desire has a remarkably long patience." A chill shot down Lyanna's spine. Hope talking _through_ Regan was still freaking her out. She sounded like Regan, but her mannerisms were all wrong. Hope was too bouncy, too cheery to be Regan. The army vet was grounded and solid, strong jawed and firm. "None of you are envisioning your dreams because your bodies are physically here. This is purely the Fade."

Hawke looked at Lyanna. "The stories say you walked out of the Fade in Haven. Was it like this?" he asked.

She looked around, but to no surprise, nothing looked familiar. "I don't know," she admitted. "I still can't remember what happened last time I did this."

"Well...whatever happened at Haven, we can't assume we're safe now. That huge demon was right on the other side of that rift Erimond was using. And there could be others."

"In our world, the rift the demons came through was nearby," Alistair said, finally deciding to join the conversation. "It was in the main hall. Can we get out by just...going through it?"

"Doors open from both sides," Hope hummed, staring off into the inky green sky. "The one the Wardens made is a pretty big one." She pointed off in the distance, where a swirling mass of green sat, slowly circling away.

Lyanna gave one final, discontented sigh before squaring her shoulders, resuming her title once again. "Let's find out," she declared.

They hurried quickly along the path that would take them to the rift. _Hopefully,_ Lyanna reminded herself. _Who knows what's going to happen when we go through it._

"So," Dorian started cheerily. "Last I remember, Warden-Commander, griffons were extinct."

Mahariel grinned wickedly. "'Were' is the correct tense..."

"Dorian Pavus."

"Dorian. Yes, everyone knows the griffons died off during the Fourth Blight, back in the fifth age, and the accepted reason is that they were sickened by the Blight and eventually withered away into legend. A half-truth. Let's just say that I had to take a trip back in the history of the Grey Wardens. Specifically, a mage by the name of Isseya. Garahel's sister."

"Garahel had siblings?"

The elf laughed. "Look, I'd love to tell the whole story right here, but I'm a little more interested in our added party member."

They all took a glance at Regan. She was still undeniably _not herself._ She was being careless about guarding her vulnerable right side, yet she seemed undisturbed. She glanced all around, like she was seeing the Fade differently than they were. Her eyes were still glowing blue, and Lyanna noticed that she was leaving a trail of ice in her footprints. Magic was practically steaming from her, young and unrestrained, untrained. She seemed not to notice that Mahariel was talking about her, nor did she notice anyone look at her. Another chill went through Lyanna. She was put off by the fact that she was looking at one of her closest friends, yet she couldn't be more unrecognizable.

Everything was relatively calm and normal, despite, well, _everything._

At least, it _was,_ until they bumped into Divine Justinia.

She couldn't remember how she recognized a face she had only possibly seen for a few moments, but the name came without hesitation. A wrinkled old woman stood at the top of a rise. _Was she expecting us?_ Lyanna asked herself as Justinia smiled, implying that she was indeed waiting for them. "Back at Haven..." she started, unsure of what to address first. "I saw...I thought I saw... How can you be here?"

Justinia cocked her head. "You think my survival impossible, yet here you stand alive in the Fade yourselves," she pointed out in a warm Orlesian accent. "In truth, proving my existence either way would require time we do not have."

"Really?" Hawke deadpanned. "How hard is it to answer one question? I'm human, and you are...?" He looked at Hope. "What is she?"

Hope studied them both for a moment, her face stricken with innocence. "Something different," she answered vaguely. "She's here to help us."

"You do not remember what happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, Inquisitor," Justinia said.

Lyanna confirmed her suspicions. "The real Justinia would have no way of knowing that I'd been made Inquisitor," she struck.

"I know because I have examined memories like yours, stolen by the demon that serves Corypheus. It is the Nightmare you forget upon waking. It feeds off memories of fear and darkness, growing fat upon the terror." She eyed the Wardens. "The false Calling that terrified the Wardens into making such grave mistakes? Its work."

"We've dealt with things worse than nightmares," Mahariel declared. "And since he messed up my family, I'll gladly take a crack at the bastard."

Justinia smiled at her words. "Your bravery and tenacity was well described, Callie Mahariel. I regret we never seized a chance to meet in person."

"Corypheus seems to have more than a few demons on his side," Lyanna pointed out. "How does he keep control over them?"

"I know not how he commands his army of demons. His power may come from the Blight itself. But the Nightmare serves willingly, for Corypheus has brought much terror to this world. He was one of the magisters to unleash the Blight upon it, was he not?"

"Every child's cry as an Archdemon circled, every dwarf's whimper lost to the Deep Roads," Hope mumbled. "Nightmare has power over therm, feeds off of their fear, and has kept such since the First Blight." She looked at the Inquisitor. "But you can fight against him with me."

"You?"

"Hope. Return home and lead the charge against Corypheus and Nightmare."

Lyanna fought against rolling her eyes. "That wasn't exactly a lot of help for the immediate problem."

"It is the only answer we can give you now," Justinia said. "When you entered the Fade at Haven, the demon took a part of you. Before you do anything else, you must recover it." Several spirits rose from the ground further up the path. "These are your memories, Inquisitor." Several ethereal bodies floated up just down the way.

They made quick work of them, connecting the broken memory back together into a singular source of energy. They all waited, watching Lyanna as she eyed up the memory. She stretched out her hand, her left, and barely even brushed against the memory when she felt magic surge right through her, like being thrust into freezing waters. The Fade became clouded, morphing into some obscure basement room. Lyanna found herself standing a stone's throw away from several Grey Wardens. Mages among them were keeping Divine Justinia suspended in a malicious looking bond of magic.

"Why are you doing this?" Justinia demanded, glaring at the wardens. "You, of all people?"

A sharp crackling of magic made Lyanna flinched as she watched. Her heart nearly stopped when Corypheus strode into the room. "Keep the sacrifice still," he said smoothly, holding out an orb from which the magic was coming from. Green magic, like the kind that the Anchor commanded, sparked and swirled around it.

"Someone help me!" the Divine shouted. The magics connected, electrifying the air.

The door was thrown open, crashing against the wall. A different Lyanna rushed through, staff drawn and expecting danger. "What's going on here?!" she shouted, positively floored by the situation that greeted her. All in a second, every single pair of eyes turned to her. The real Lyanna chuckled darkly, remembering how she had honestly peed a little in the moment, swearing she had made a huge mistake.

Divine Justinia knocked the orb out of Corypheus' hand, sending it rolling to the other Lyanna. She chased it, scooping it up quickly with her left hand. Lyanna grimaced as she remembered what it had felt like. A burning, sizzling pain. It would have been kinder to have driven a rusted chisel through her palm instead of cursing her with the Anchor. Corypheus rushed her, but the orb exploded with energy, blasting them from the memory.

Warden-Commander Mahariel spoke first. "So...your mark _wasn't_ from Andraste?" she clarified. "It looked like that orb Corypheus had did it."

"Corypheus intended to rip open the Veil, use the Anchor to enter the Fade, and throw open the doors of the Black City," Fade Justinia explained. "Not for the Old Gods, but for himself. When you disrupted his plan, the Orb bestowed the Anchor upon you instead.

"I've been saying it wasn't Andraste for the better part of a year!" Lyanna sighed, smirking at her own attitude. She gestured to herself. "No Maker required to make this mess."

"And now you can be certain. You cannot escape the lair of the Nightmare until you regain all that it took from you. You have recovered some of yourself, but now it knows you are here. You must make haste. I will prepare the way ahead."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all aboard the angst train, WHOO WHOO


	17. artificial stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition's elite team makes the final push to escape the Fade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back in classes and ready to kick ass!  
> \---  
> Also I've just discovered this musical called "Six" about Henry VIII's wives and it's fucking fire so it's where my motivation is coming from

_September 19th, 2017_

_"Are you smoking weed through that pipe?" Holland asked as she poked her head in the room._

_Regan smiled around the end of it, holding back the urge to look up at her younger sister. She held her charcoal pencil loosely in her hand, keeping her eyes firmly on the large paper on her slanted art table. "Was it the smell, or the fact that I texted you I'd be smoking it when you got here?" She gently ran her feet across Cherry's exposed belly as she lounged on the floor beneath the table._

_"Well, the massive cloud of smoke doesn't exactly work in your favor," her sister chuckled, setting a fabric grocery bag near the door. "I brought back your books. Finished the three Michael Crichton ones, the one about the Christmas Truce, and..." She snapped her fingers. "Oh! And that Dan Brown one." She went to stand behind Regan, peering over her shoulder. "Wow."_

_Regan didn't draw too often--mostly due to the fact that she was either glued to her writing, or actually following her therapist's instructions--but she preferred to be under the influence when she did so, which sounded crass and irresponsible when she thought about it. She didn't like to drink too much, so marijuana was a better substitute. It completely shed her stupidly stubborn army attitude, leaving her with soft thoughts and an endless length of patience._

_She was drawing something that had tickled her for more than a few days. She had been walking Cherry during the day. Usually she walked her at night, but her therapist had asked her to try and spend more time outside in the sunshine. There had been a young girl at the park, sitting on a bench and intently watching a father and his two sons fish. She had been glancing back and forth between them and her sketchbook, scratching out a perfect snapshot of not only the fishermen, but the scenery around them as well._

_Regan was drawing the girl from memory. Long, raven black hair that was curlier than all hell. Classic leather jacket, red jeans, black Converse high-tops. Bright green earbuds that disappeared into her jacket picket. A backpack was next to her on the bench. Mostly everything was still in its early framing, just hastily brushed lines and shapes, but the girl's face held intense detail. Deep, and vibrant eyes. Full cheeks. Freckles splattered here and there without any rhyme or reason. A faded beauty mark sat right in the middle of her right dimple._

_"You're damn good," Holland noted as she straightened up and made her way down the hall to the kitchen. "Wow, you haven't even raided your stash of chocolate yet! I'm proud!"_

_Regan murmured thanks to the empty room as she put down her pipe and got to her feet. Cherry boofed and followed her closely. Holland was looking through the pantry, giving it a scrutinizing gaze from behind her glasses. "You really need something other than grains, carbs, and junk food, Re," she sighed, closing the doors. "Don't you ever get tired of eating pasta all the time?"_

_The older sister snickered, shaking her head. "Nah, Hol, that would be like Snoop Dogg getting tired of smoking weed." She opened the fridge. "But, now that you mention it, I was going to make some chicken alfredo later, but I need the chicken and garlic."_

_Holland smirked. "Well, you look like you're a homeless person, and also in no condition to drive, so I'll drive." Five minutes later, they were at the grocery store. Wary of how she'd be in public, she elected to take Cherry with her. Her red retriever went into full work mode, all sharp eyes and learned movements, protecting her right side._

_"No way!" Regan laughed, trying to take the block of Velveeta out of Holland's hand. "No! It's disgusting!"_

_She held it out of her reach and smirked. "Trust me on this one," she insisted. "This is Natalie's recipe for mac and cheese, actually."_

_Regan's eyes went wide. "The one with the shell noodles?" Holland's answer was a smile and a nod, which made her laugh so hard she started coughing. "Je-sus!" she choked out, smiling. Holland just giggled, shaking her head at her as she tossed the Velveeta in the cart. "Ugh, why can't I at least_ act _sober?"_

_"Because you never learned_ how, _Re," Holland sighed, steering the cart down the aisle. "What's your garage fridge situation like at the moment?"_

_"Pretty barren." They stopped by the walk-in cooler to grab wine coolers and Redd's. Regan kept a second fridge in the garage that worked as storage for alcohol and excess soda that didn't fit in the fridge. She also kept some cold cuts in the freezer. They gathered the rest of Regan's groceries--much to the criticism and improvement of Holland--and made their way back to the house to get dinner started._

_Regan wandered back to her study to look at her drawing. It definitely needed something, but she wasn't quite sure what. It was bothering her worse than writer's block, which she also happened to be burdened with. Hence the drawing. Cherry sat down beside her and whined, pawing once at the ground. She glanced at her, scratching behind her ears. "I'm okay, Cherry-Berry," she assured her. Her eyes flicked to her prosthetic leg. She made a face at it. Cherry kept looking up at her, licking her nose once._

_"Re?" Holland called from the kitchen. "The mac and cheese is ready! And I made the garlic bread, too!"_

_"Want some garlic bread, Cherry-Berry?" Regan asked in a babying tone, trying to distract herself from her looming depression. Cherry licked her nose again and thumped her tail against the carpet. They made their way to the kitchen, side by side. Holland immediately handed her a plate of cheesy pasta and garlic bread. It smelled like heaven and immediately made Regan's mouth water._

_"You're the best, Holland," she sighed wistfully._

\---

"Hope." Lyanna had to think before saying the spirit's name so she wouldn't snap at it. She couldn't think of a legitimate reason to be annoyed with the fact that a spirit was inhabiting the body of one of her closest friends. Sure, Regan wasn't exactly with them, but she was still alive, as far as they all knew. Besides, Hope was a good fighter. She managed to perfectly blend magic with her dual swords, moving as fast as the lightning she threw off the end of her blades. It was incredible to watch, but knowing that it _was_ and _was not_ Regan unnerved Lyanna.

Hope shook her head, as if clearing her thoughts. "Apologies, Inquisitor," she muttered. "I became distracted."

"Distracted?"

"Regan is...dreaming. That's how I would put it. She's thinking about her sister."

"Hallie?"

"No. But they share the same face."

_Holland,_ Lyanna thought. Hallie's twin. The third Galloway sister that had joined and followed the Grey Wardens at Adamant. The last Lyanna had seen of the twin was on the battlements of the fortress. Regan had begged her to leave so that she could face her sister alone. Just as she was about to ponder further on the third sister, a disembodied voice nearly made her jump out of her skin.

_"Ah, we have a visitor."_

Every one of them stopped in their tracks, looking around at each other. Hope's eyes went wide, glowing brighter as her face was drained of all color.

_"Some silly little girl comes to steal the fear I so kindly lifted from her shoulders. You should have thanked me and left your fear where it lay, forgotten."_

"Nightmare," Hope breathed, her voice deafening in the silence that had befallen them all.

_"You think that pain will make you stronger? What fool filled your mind with such drivel? The only one who grows stronger from your fear is_ **_me_ ** _."_

"Keep moving," Lyanna snarled, anger trickling into her thoughts.

_"But you are a guest here in my home, so by all means, let me return what you have forgotten."_

They continued on. They were all on edge after listening to the demon, but Hope seemed especially put off. She held a hand to her side, where Regan had been wounded earlier in the battle. It wasn't bleeding, but Hope seemed wary of it. She also tripped several times on her prosthetic leg. They passed indiscernible ruins of all kinds and of varying ages, all overgrown by the Fade. They passed chunks of red and blue lyrium alike, steering away from them.

They had just ascended a long flight of stairs riddled with the red stuff when Nightmare spoke again, startling them all. He sounded like he was everywhere and nowhere at once.

_"Perhaps **I** should be afraid, facing the most powerful members of the Inquisition."_ A deep, sinister chuckle that followed made Lyanna's skin crawl. She wanted nothing more than to send a spike of ice right through Nightmare,  but how could she when he wasn't even tangible?

_"Greetings, Dorian... It **is** Dorian, isn't it? For a moment, I mistook you for your father."_

The altus snorted uncharacteristically. "Rather uncalled for," he brushed off easily. But something in the twitch Lyanna spotted in the corner of his mouth told her something different. She wasn't sure what to make of it.

"'Run Free'," Hope muttered. "She's still thinking. Singing and screaming at the same time. She doesn't know where she is."

"Uh, she's starting to sound like Cole," Hawke noted. "Considering she was making perfect sense before, that doesn't seem like a good sign."

_"Screaming, you say? Yes, Regan is quite used to the sound. She's used to causing pain. Tell me, otherworlder: how long did you expect to put off murdering your own little sister?"_

Hope let out a sharp gasp and dropped to her knees. Her hands fisted in the dirt as her whole body went taut and trembled. She looked up and brushed her hair out of her face. Hope was gone, replaced with Regan herself. Her eyes no longer glowed a brilliant blue, replaced with Regan's deep irises instead. Her teeth were bared in a sharp snarl, the cut on her lips only adding to the intimidation.

"Regan?" Lyanna asked softly, still unsure what Nightmare had meant.

"I _loved_ her," she breathed carefully, her voice overflowing with fury and grief alike. "You get into _my_ head, and try to fuck _me_ up?" She barked out a mirthless laugh, making Lyanna flinch. "I'm already a shitshow of a human being who doesn't deserve to keep breathing, you son of a bitch. I _can't_ sink any lower, so why don't you try your little parlor tricks on someone who actually gives a shit about living?"

They all stared at her. She had just sassed the Nightmare demon, but there wasn't anything false about it. Regan was being serious. She didn't care about her life; Lyanna could see it in her eyes and in the way she looked utterly defeated. And just like that, her eyes filled with light again and she took a shuddering breath. Hope had taken back the controls.

"Please keep walking," she begged quietly. So they did, each of them itching for the next victim's name to be called.

_"Did the king's bastard think he could prove himself, that he could finally help out all on his own?"_ Nightmare continued. Alistair cocked his head to one side. _"It's far too late for that. Your whole life, you've left everything to more capable hands. The Archdemon, the throne of Ferelden... Who will you hide behind now?"_

Alistair gave the same laugh Regan had. "Is that all you've got?" he challenged. "I've heard worse than that from Morrigan."

_"Oh, but speaking of more capable hands... The Hero of Ferelden. How are you, my dear? Still searching for a purpose after you ended the Blight? You've all but forgotten your clan, you abandoned those under your command, and you allowed Clarel to fall to her own doubts and fears."_

Mahariel shook her head slowly. "I will always do what I must, demon," she declared, "but the world has taken enough from me."

_"It has, hasn't it? First your parents, then Tamlen, then your very freedom was taken by those you've sworn to serve. Pity."_

The Warden-Commander muttered something in elvhen that Lyanna didn't quite catch, but the woman looked to her husband and winked.

"My turn, is it?" Hawke sighed, fiddling with the smooth gem at the top of his staff.

_"Ah, yes, I mustn't forget the great Champion of Kirkwall. Did you think yo mattered, Hawke? Did you think anything you ever did mattered? You couldn't even save your city. How could you expect to strike down a god? Merrill is going to die, just like your family, and everyone you ever cared about."_

Hawke actually laughed, a wide grin stretching his lips. "You must be really grasping for something if you think my spunky little blood mage has enough time in her day to worry about dying. She's too busy for that kind of shit, and so am I. Good luck next time."

\---

"Your memory awaits, Inquisitor," the Divine offered.

"More?" Lyanna sighed. "But we already discovered that Corypheus' worked with the Wardens and the Orb gave me the Anchor."

"Are you not curious regarding your escape from the Fade?"

She swallowed a grumble and trodded past the woman. The last experience with her forgotten memories hadn't been wholly pleasant. She was satisfied with knowing, but it only made the whole situation more sinister. The Wardens had been involved since the beginning, and had she not followed her instincts and stumbled in on their little ritual, who knew what the world would be like now.

"Can we spare a moment?" Dorian asked. "One of us isn't taking Nightmare's jab as well."

Lyanna was about to protest, but then she saw Hope. Or, rather, she saw Regan. The spirit was gone again, but Regan wasn't looking too good. She was sweating, pale, and breathing heavily. The veteran cursed under her breath and sat down in a heap, lowering further onto her back. Dorian knelt at her side and checked her pulse.

"Not good," he said. "Regan? Can you hear me?" She nodded, but didn't open her eyes. "Where does it hurt?"

She scoffed. "Everywhere, Dorian..." she mumbled. "I feel like I've been kicked in the head by Moose. What hit me?"

Hawke crouched on her other side. "A spirit, Re," he said casually. "What's the last thing you remember?"

"Uh...bitch-talking a voice? Dunno who that was..."

Hawke dragged a hand down his face, sighing. "She's like Anders. When we entered the Fade to wake up an elven mage, Justice took over and Anders didn't remember a second of it. Only difference is that Regan's fighting back." He shrugged. "That'd be my guess. Dorian?"

"Physically, she can make it," he surmised, looking up at the Champion. "But I'm not sure about the rest of her. If her and the spirit keep jockeying for position..."

Lyanna shook her head and held her index finger up. "You're telling me that Hope saved Regan, and now she's killing her?"

"Accidentally, I'm sure," Hawke quickly said. He looked back down at Regan. "Hey, Re? Still with us?"

"Barely," she muttered.

"We need to get out of here," Mahariel chimed in. "Staying in one place like this is going to draw attention. Besides, I'm sure I don't need to bring up that we have no idea how the battle back home is going."

"She's right," Regan mumbled. She tried to get up, but the men held her down. "Guys, I'm just dead weight at this point. I'm wounded, I'm mentally compromised, and..." She grimaced and held a hand over her side. "And I'm not particularly psyched about going back."

"What?" Hawke exclaimed. "Why not?"

"Her sister," Mahariel breathed. "Not Hallie. Holland. The one that..."

"The one I murdered, yes," Regan finished crassly. "Hallie surely doesn't want to run me through, but she has every right to." She shook her head and covered her eyes with the back of her hand as tears started to run free down her cheeks. "Please, Inquisitor. I don't want to be responsible for your deaths as well." She yelped in pain. "And Hope's not gonna stay away forever."

Just as Lyanna was about to blurt out something inspirational or rational, Hawke clicked his tongue and shook his head. "Not happening," he said firmly, shouldering his staff and snaking his arms under her legs and behind her back, lifting her from the ground in one smooth motion. He nodded at the Inquisitor. "Best go poke that memory, Lavellan. I'd like to get home as soon as possible."

She nodded back and approached the memory, whapping it with her hand and plunging right into it. The next thing she knew, she was standing at the edge of a cliff, staring down at herself, covered in dust, dirt, and blood, clawing at the stone. Beside her, the Divine rushed the edge. "Hurry!" she shouted down at the other Lavellan. The breach at Haven was just behind them. Salvation.

The other Lavellan hauled herself over the edge and immediately scrambled to her feet. Lyanna followed them to the breach, but something grabbed Justinia. Both Lavellans whirled and saw one of the demons firmly latched onto one of her boots. Out of instinct, Lyanna tried to grab her, but her hands passed right through the two women. The other Lavellan pulled with everything she had, but it wasn't enough.

"Go!" the Divine said, letting go and slipping through the other Lavellan's hand. She fell back on her rear with a yelp and pushed herself through the rift.

"It was you," Lyanna said to the spirit of the Divine once she had returned to the Fade. "Everyone thought it was Andraste that sent me from the Fade, but Justinia was the one behind me." She looked down at the ground, the pit in her stomach growing. "And then you...she died..." She pressed her hands to her face. "Creators..."

"And that means you're not the Divine," Alistair concluded.

"You don't say," Hawke grumbled, hoisting Regan higher up in his arms. She was fully unconscious, her head resting against his shoulder and her one arm dangling. Lyanna prayed she could hold out a little longer.

"I am sorry if I disappoint you," the spirit said. Hawke made a face of indifference and glanced down. The guise of the Divine melted away, and the spirit appeared in the form as Lyanna had remembered it: composed of pure, warm light.

"What we _do_ know is that the real Divine perished at the Temple, thanks to the Grey Wardens."

"Hey!" Alistair protested. "They were under Corypheus' control!"

"We can discuss this further once we're back at Adamant," Lyanna interjected, pinching the bridge of her nose and briefly wondering when the hell this day would end.

"Assuming that the Wardens and their demon army didn't destroy the Inquisition while we're gone."

"Later!" Lyanna snapped, her temper flaring. "First priority is getting out of danger. Must I remind you that Regan is possibly dying?"

A screeching sound brought them back to reality. Lyanna looked up and was greeted with the sight of several corrupted, twisted spider-like creatures crawling down the stone walls all around them. Her heart dropped. She didn't mind the small ones, but the big ones made her want to scream. She swallowed it instead and brandished her staff.

"Nightmare has found us," the light spirit said. "Follow me. I will lead you to the rift."

"I'll cover Hawke," Dorian offered. "Wardens?"

"We're with you, Inquisitor," Mahariel promised, readying an arrow. "Lead us home."

"Gladly."

_"Do you think you can fight me?"_ Nightmare's voice thundered. _"I am your every fear come to life! I am the veiled hand of Corypheus himself! The demon army you fear? I command it. They are bound all through me!"_

"Ha!" Mahariel snickered. "So if we banish you, we banish the demons?" She rolled her eyes. "Thank you, every fear come to life, for giving us a solution."

They fought through the army of spiders with relative ease. Lyanna held point with Mahariel, Dorian covered Hawke and Regan in the middle, and Alistair covered the back. Lyanna couldn't spare a single thought. All she dared to focus on was her magic and what it was directed at. But when they came upon the graveyard, she paused, almost getting tackled by a spider had it not been for Mahariel watching her back.

"Eyes up, Inquisitor," she quipped, firing off another arrow at a spider nearing Dorian, too busy keeping a ward up around Hawke to see it. "We're good for now."

Lyanna stepped up to the knee-high fence. Shivers rocked through her as she read the name on the nearest gravestone.

_Callie Mahariel._

"You didn't die without telling us, right, Warden-Commander?" Lyanna asked, looking back at her.

She patted herself down briefly. "No?"

Lyanna pointed. "Are you sure?" The elf approached the gate and opened it, staring at the slab of roughly chiseled stone. "What else does it say?"

"There's no date." She crouched next to it and brushed her fingers over the faded carvings. "That's my name...and this says..." She froze.

"What?"

"'The Calling'." Mahariel looked at her before standing up and going over to another grave. "'Garrett Hawke. Losing a Loved One'." She straightened up again. "These aren't causes of death, Inquisitor. These are our fears." She pointed to each of the others. "And there's enough for all of us."

Lyanna went to another. "'Dorian Pavus. Temptation.'"

"I heard my name," the mage called from a stone's throw away. "Who's buried here?"

"Us, apparently."

Mahariel continued. "Lyanna, Failure. Alistair, Rejection. Regan...Hope?" The elf frowned. "How can Regan be afraid of hope?"

Hawke came over as well with the woman in question still dead to the world in his arms. "Hope mentioned that Regan doesn't have a lot of hope, but we can ask her about it when she's safe and sound back at Skyhold. She's not breathing right."

Lyanna swore.

The ground beneath them shook.

She swore louder. "That doesn't sound nice, does it?" she sighed.

Regan gasped sharply, her eyes glowing brilliantly. Hope scrambled out of Hawke's arms. "Run, _run!"_ she shouted, leading them in a dead sprint. Lyanna didn't even question the spirit, just made sure everyone was on the same page and kept up with her. She ran like a bat out of hell, and Lyanna and the others struggled to keep up with her.

"Slow down, Regan!" she shouted, but she didn't stop.

"Something tells me that whatever has her spooked is not good news!" Dorian shouted.

"No shit!" Alistair gasped, his armor clanking loudly as he ran.

"It's gotta be Nightmare!" Lyanna guessed.

_"Oh_ shit," Hawke added. "That would definitely explain why Hope is-"

_"Hurry up!"_ the spirit snapped.

Hawke let out a low sound. "Maker, I'm about ten seconds from catching up and tripping her!"

Lyanna nearly ran smack into Hope when they rounded a corner. The spirit in Regan's body was rooted to the ground. A stone's throw away was the rift they needed to go through. Unfortunately for them, between where they stood and the door to freedom was a massive-

"It had to be a fucking spider, didn't it?" Mahariel groaned.

It wasn't quite a spider. More like a spider mixed with the Blight and every possible terrible thing that had ever existed in the history of everything. Milky grey eyes in numbers too many to count. Legs as tall as buildings more akin to a crab than a spider. The whole creature was far larger than any of the dragons they had faced thus far.

"Shit," Lyanna spat.

Hope-- _Regan_ turned around, smiling sadly. She drew her swords, twirling them in her hands slowly. "Can you do something for me, Inquisitor?" She took a deep breath. "It won't mean nearly as much to say that I'm sorry, but can you tell Hallie and Cullen that for me? I'm sorry that I couldn't be better."

"Regan what are you-"

"I'll buy you some time," she continued. "Hope and I were talking." She scoffed. "Maker, that sounds weird. But..." She cocked her head and shrugged. "Move your asses. I'm not about to die for nothing." She saluted briefly in her own way, with two fingers just barely tapping the corner of her forehead. "See you around, Lyanna Lavellan. It's certainly been...something."

Lyanna made to run after Regan, but Hawke grabbed her from behind. "Come on, Inquisitor," he said gruffly. They moved right while Regan led Nightmare left. She was yelling unidentifiable obscenities at it, dodging the slimy tentacles and slicing at its plated legs. Lyanna fought against Hawke, but he was far stronger than her, and kept her in an iron lock.

"Hawke, let me go!" she screamed as they moved closer to the rift. She was crying. "That's a fucking order!"

"I promised my help, Inquisitor, not my service," he replied easily. "Even if you _did_ have authority over me, I can't let you just-"

"She'll die!"

The Champion didn't reply to that, only kept hauling her along to the rift. Cracks of thunder signaled that Hope and Regan were working interchangeably. The air smelled like charred wood and ozone. Lyanna could feel her own magic responding to Regan's, practically begging to be set free. She couldn't just leave Regan to die! _She couldn't!_ In her thrashing, she distantly heard the twang of a bowstring and saw Mahariel bringing up the rear, firing off arrows at Nightmare, but it seemed more concerned with the crazed woman beneath it, slashing and slicing at its legs and occasionally throwing lightning at its exposed underbelly.

Dorian went through first. Mahariel caught up and ran through with Alistair. Lyanna managed to break free for a second, but Hawke kept a tight grip on her wrist, whipping her through the rift. She fell straight backwards and collided with a stone floor. She immediately jerked to sit up, realizing she was back in the mortal world, surrounded by the clash of swords, shields, and magic. Inquisition soldiers were locked in battle with Grey Wardens. Mahariel was already running around, telling them to stand down, but few Inquisition soldiers listened to her.

"Close the rift, Inquisitor!" Hawke shouted.

"No!" she yelled back, her voice cracking horribly. She wanted desperately to jump back through, but her feet stood rooted to the spot. It would be foolish, she knew. It seemed like a lifetime ago that she had told Leliana that, as the Inquisitor, she wouldn't put her life on the line for Regan own interests, but surely this was an exception, yes? She had just condemned her friend to her death. To die alone, painfully, in a world that wasn't her own.

She couldn't live with that, surely.

\---

_Regan tore her piece of garlic bread in half and gave one to Cherry, who had obediently sat when asked to. She ate her own, sinking further into her office chair. Holland had left hours ago, but Regan's mind was still racing. She had so many things to think about, so many ways to go, but nothing interested her. She had absolutely no motivation to even get up for a drink of water. It felt odd, but familiar. She had felt similarly in the VA hospital after coming back from Afghanistan with one less leg._

_"What am I doing here, Cherry-Berry?" she asked aloud. "Say there's a god, right? Some mystical motherfucker looking down on all of us. Why did they keep me alive? Why didn't I just die way back when? It might've been better, to be honest. I would have died that excitable romantic who graduated high school with honors. The perfect soldier who defied gender norms and passed basic training above all the other girls." She shook her head._

_"What I'm not meant to be alive?" Cherry whined. Regan sighed. "Yeah, I know, people would miss me! That's a given! You weren't there when I tried to kill myself. Loads of people crowded around my hospital bed promising their support and love." She scoffed. "Bullshit. I'm sure Holland knew it wasn't a good idea to leave me alone tonight, but she did it anyway."_

_"Did you know that there's a loaded gun in my bedside table? Right in the first drawer. I tell everyone that I'm worried about burglars or some shit like that."_

_In truth, she took it out sometime, safety on, and pressed the barrel to her temple. The metal was always cool and heavy in her hand and against her head. The bare fact that she was one flick and squeeze away from oblivion gave her a strange sense of comfort. She controlled her fate, no matter what. If there was ever one constant truth in her life, she wanted it to be that. She would be the only person to ever decide whether she lived or died._

_She sat up, looking at her drawing. The background still wasn't done, but her drug-addled mind had made the piece into something a little more surreal. She had arranged the freckles and marks on the girl's face, darkening some. She had gone crazy with her pencil; her hands were covered in charcoal and graphite. The girl's face held a piece of the night sky. The marks on her skin were the stars that connected unnamed constellations._

"Fucking hell," _she sighed,_ "what's wrong with me?"

\---

Her chest rose and fell steadily, blood leaking out of the wound in her abdominals. She held one hand over it lightly, but there wasn't any point in putting pressure on it. In a few minutes, she would lose consciousness. There was no one around to help, anyway.

The massive spider certainly wasn't going to help her, anyway. It was just off to the side. Half of its legs had been blown off by her violent lightning. It was struggling, and would soon get its footing back, but Regan smirked nonetheless. Her friends were safe. Lavellan was safe. She would live on, save Thedas, and kick a lot of ass during the in between parts.

_Are you sure you don't want to get up?_

She sighed, feeling a sharp pain in her middle. "Dunno if I can," she muttered. She could barely summon sparks from her fingers, so magic was out of the question. Every muscle ached and burned. She was starting to feel lightheaded from blood loss.

_Regan._

"Yeah, I know, Hope," she sighed. She planed her hands on either side of her, sitting up with a strained yell. The world turned upside down and she immediately turned to one side and threw up what little was in her stomach. Saliva and blood dripped from her bottom lip and she wiped blindly at it.

The army had taught her that she could _make_ her body do things it thought it couldn't. The very opposite of mind over matter. She felt that instinctual pull to preserve her own life, despite her mind asking her to just lie back down and fucking die. A shrill, shrieking sound let her know that the spider had spotted her movement. A streak of fear passed through her mind. She shuffled to her feet, wishing she had something or someone to lean on. She smiled deliriously at the thought of being carried by Hawke again. He had been startlingly warm.

"You're like cold fire, Hope," she mumbled to herself, demanding her feet to move. "You're like fucking windburn. You're annoying as all hell."

She dared to look up, spotting the rift. It was still open. _Dammit, Lyanna,_ she cursed. _Damn your hope._ She scoffed, nearly toppling over. Her swords were gone, including her knife. She was unarmed and would be utterly fucked if Nightmare managed to catch up to her. She didn't even have the energy to spare a thought on how close it might be. She kept her eyes closed, feeling the ebbing magic of the rift as she walked toward it. She could smell fresh air coming through it. She could taste blood in her mouth and a fiery pain was growing from her wound.

_The battle,_ she thought blindly as she heard it. She could hear the battle. Her feet moved infinitesimally faster. Her survival instinct pulled harder, dragged her closer to the rift.

_Fucking hell, just-_

She stumbled forward, crashing down to the ground, cursing inwardly.

_Fuck, I'm tired._


	18. lay yourself in my arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition deals with Post-Adamant stress. Lyanna heads back to Skyhold. Hallie and Cullen stay behind and assess the casualty count.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope yall are ready for a long one cause I'm pulling out all the stops
> 
> Also this chapter has spoilers for The Last Flight, so if you haven't read it, I would highly recommend picking it up sometime. Good damn read.

The Grey Wardens would stay.

Nobody was quite sure how to think about it, especially Cullen. The full casualty count hadn't been made, nor did he think it would ever be completely accurate, but the Wardens had killed the Inquisition's people. He knew it wouldn't be fair to place every ounce of blame on them. Corypheus was ultimately behind it all, but they had made their choice. The Wardens had chosen to sully the faith that had held for ages.

The Hero of Ferelden was especially offended.

She spent hours upon hours trying to set things back into working order. She rounded up every last Warden left alive and found out everything about them. Their names, their seniority, who had recruited them, and so on. If they were mages, she insisted that Inquisition soldiers be with them at all times when around others. Warden-Constable Alistair worked just as hard alongside her, but neither of them really knew what to do with the Wardens. A majority of the Adamant Wardens were Orlesian. Clarel was still recovering from wounds that _should_ have taken her life. They were strangers in a strange land handling brothers and sisters in arms whom they had never worked with before.

Cullen had a crippling workload of his own. The aforementioned casualty count, the mountain of reports that he had to sift through--as well as the ones he himself had yet to even begin writing--and the whole mental process of it all. How could he possibly go through it all without the woman he loved by his side?

Regan was alive, thank the Maker, but only just. She had tumbled out of the rift in the middle of an argument between Hawke and the Inquisitor over the rift itself. He had screamed at her to close it, to banish the demons, but Lavellan had stood her ground, looking imposing despite her small stature. Since then, she hadn't regained consciousness.

 _Maker's breath, she's a mage,_ he found himself thinking as he stared down at the reports in his hands. Everyone who had made the venture into the Fade had told him the same story. A spirit of hope bonded with Regan and subsequently revealed her abilities. Cullen shook his head. He couldn't help but feel that he had somehow fallen short. He couldn't have possibly seen it coming, had he? There was no possible way of knowing who was a mage until their magic manifested.

But the thought of Regan simply being a _late bloomer_ nearly made him snort indignantly.

"Cullen." Hallie Galloway turned a corner sharply. "There you are," she sighed in relief.

"What's wrong?" he automatically asked.

She looked confused, but quickly shook her head. "Oh, nothing," she assured him. "I was looking to check up on you." It was his turn to look confused. Hallie gave her a look. "Cullen...you can't seriously expect to go through this on your own." She ran a hand through her hair and folded her arms. "I'm as worried about Regan as you are. I just..."

The younger Galloway sister looked terrible. She had dark circles under her eyes that could rival his. She looked cold, and not entirely due to the nighttime desert climate. "Christ, I never thought I'd have to go through this again," she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Just don't...don't be alone, okay?" She scoffed. "God, that sounds stupid..." She ran her hands through her hair again and closed her eyes. "I'm gonna go check in on her. Sit for a while."

"Hallie," Cullen said, catching her full attention. She looked at him with those bright green eyes. He wondered briefly how they could still be so alive after she had seen so much death. She had to watch her twin sister die in front of her, yet she refused to tell anyone how it happened, and he could tell that it was weighing heavily on her. "I'd advise you to practice what you preach. Please."

She smirked weakly. "Yeah...I'm not the best at that, but I'll try. Or, I'll get Krem to look after me. One or the other." She gave him a wave and walked in the direction of the field hospitals.

 _Don't be alone._ How could he not be?

\---

It was another three days until he found the strength to visit Regan. She still hadn't woken up, and the evidence of that was clear to see. She had stumbled out of the Fade with enough injury to have killed her. Yet, she was still alive, and no one could pinpoint where her strength was coming from. Most of her body was covered in bruises and minor cuts. Her midsection was wrapped in thick bandages that would soon be in need of changing. Her top and bottom lip were marred by deep cuts that would no doubt scar significantly.

He sat beside her bedroll, praying. He had hoped beyond belief that he would be able to keep himself together, but he felt himself slipping. The injuries of others, while they still weighed on his shoulders significantly, had absolutely nothing compared to the gut-wrenching pain he felt looking down at the unconscious body of the woman he loved and not knowing whether or not she would live to see the next day.

 _Though all before me is shadow,_  
_Yet shall the Maker be my guide._  
_I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond,_  
_For there is no darkness in the Maker's light,_  
_And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost._

\---

One of the camp counselors passed Regan a hymnal book, but she simply handed it to her friend, Karli. She knew most of the popular hymns by heart from years of being forced to attend church until she had gotten confirmed. She hadn't necessarily hated it, but she always felt as if it was time wasted. In her opinion, she didn't need to go to church to be a follower of a religion. Not that she was very religious to begin with. On the other side of her sat Hallie all tucked up in her sweatshirt. The three of them, plus others around them, were seated atop the red picnic table, one of many in a circle around the campfire. Holland sat on the actual bench between Hallie's feet. The sun was below the treeline, but had yet to actually sink below the horizon. The clouds above the lake were stained orange and pink like ribbons fluttering in the wind.

"You okay?" Hallie whispered to her.

"Yeah," Regan replied automatically, knowing it was a half-lie. It was their last night at Moon Beach camp for the year, so she was understandably gloomy. She had one more year before she aged out, but the twins had a few more. She was terribly envious of them. It didn't matter if she was religious or not; she had a family among the people she had come to know over the years. John with his insane trumpet skills, Karli with her absurd willingness to try anything at least once, Sam with his fucking odd sense of humor, Tillie with her brown curls and curving smile.

A hand tapped her shoulder, drawing her attention out of her thoughts and focusing them behind her. She turned and found herself looking at the camp director, Phoebe. She motioned for her to follow, so Regan tapped Hallie's knee and got up, going around and joining Phoebe at the edge of the volleyball court just a short distance away. Phoebe was definitely a strange character, but the good kind of strange. A talented musician, incredibly characteristic, and all with an abundance of optimism and energy to fuel it.

"I have a bit of a proposition for you, Re," she started, clasping her hands together in front of her. She looked so casual in her Moon Beach sweatshirt and blue jeans with Converse. It was sometimes hard to believe she ran a whole camp all year long. "We're gonna start out the night with _Here I Am, Lord,_ and I want you to solo the first verse."

Regan cocked her head, confused. "Um, what? Like, by myself?"

"Well, Lily's playing the guitar too, but yeah, by yourself." She smiled. "You've carried the choir through the week, and I wanted to thank you in some way, but if you're uncomfortable with it-"

"No!" Regan quickly stopped her. "I mean...I'd love to. Can't promise it'll be perfect, but I'll give it my best try."

Phoebe's face lit up. "Awesome! Would you also mind improving a bit of a touching speech at the end? David let me read your pieces you gave him for the writing activities. Something like that?" Regan's heart sucker punched her ribs, but she found herself nodding, excited. Her foggy mood evaporated on the spot at the idea of giving one last piece of herself to the camp before they had to leave the next morning. "Excellent! I'll just have you go over to the podium we've dragged out here, but you don't have to stand behind it or anything. Lily's on the end of that bench right next to it."

Regan went over to the spot, nervously rubbing her jeans. Lily was busy talking to Amy, so she was alone with her thoughts once again. Hallie and Holland shot her confused looks from across the circle of picnic benches, but she smirked and gave them a thumbs up. They probably were assuming she was going to read some random Bible verse to kick the night off. Well, that was halfway right, sort of. Once she saw Phoebe give her a thumbs up, she tapped Lily's shoulder and they got started.

The _real_ Regan sat some distance away, watching the spectacle. She watched herself fiddle with the hem of her sweatshirt and begin the first verse of _Here I Am, Lord._ It was interesting to see herself so young, so unburdened by life. And with fine set of unmaimed legs. Her hand drifted to just above her knee, where one of the thick buckles bound her prosthetic to what remained of her leg.

She wasn't sure where she was. Well, obviously she was sitting on a swinging bench at Moon Beach Camp, but she wasn't sure why she was re-living one of her fondest memories. She ran her toes through the coarse sand beneath her. For the first real time since landing ass-first in Thedas, she found herself terribly homesick. She missed her bed with its quilt. She missed meeting up with her dad for lunch every now and then. She missed hot pockets and Ramen noodles and junk food of all kinds. She missed when the only humanoid species were actually humans, not elves or dwarves or qunari. She missed too many things to pick something that pained her most of all.

If she was dead, than reliving her memories for eternity was hardly the punishment she had been expecting. She was expecting...nothing, really. The way her mind was made it impossible to have any sort of huge belief in a possible afterlife. The brain was where she was, so there was literally nowhere to go once she expired.

She shook her head. Despite the peaceful atmosphere, she wasn't in the right mindset to have an existential debate. She decided to just stop and smell the roses. Moon Beach wasn't the worst place to spend forever, if she truly was dead.

In a weird way, she sort of hoped she dead. It would certainly be a lot easier than living.

She slipped her mint-colored Croc back on and stood up, stretching her arms overhead and admiring the glassy lake one more time before wandering past the crowd and heading to the lodge. Her unusual presence went unnoticed by the campers, something she had gotten used to over the past couple of days. She was simply a ghost among the living, unseen. She pushed through the doors and made her way to the dining hall. The hot chocolate machine was humming quietly, and she snatched up a mug and filled it.

"Mind making me one?"

The voice startled her so much that she both nearly jumped out of her prosthetic _and_ dropped the mug, gasping again when it shattered and spilled the hot chocolate everywhere. "Christ!" she hissed, stepping back from the splattered puddle. She looked up at the offending voice, intending to give the person a scowl and a warning. What she did instead was stumble against the counter and nearly pass out.

Holland smiled at her as she pulled a towel conveniently from her shoulder and dropped it on the spill. "I scare you that much, huh?" she teased. She nudged the shattered pieces with the toe of her boot and grabbed two more mugs from under the counter. She filled them both and offered one to Regan.

"Piss off," she grumbled, stalking off.

"Oh, come on!" Holland called after her. "Don't be like that, Regan!"

"Look, I already accepted that I may be in hell, but I'm not just gonna stick around while my dead sister comes to guilt-trip me for all of eternity!" She found the back door of the lodge and kept walking. _Why, why,_ why _is Holland here?_ she lamented.

"What are you afraid of?"

Regan spun around, glaring. "You!" she exploded, throwing her hands up like it was obvious. "Holland, last time I saw you was when I had a sword right through your middle! I _murdered_ you! Call me crazy, but you're not someone I want to talk to right now!"

"Why do you think you're dead?" she asked suddenly.

Regan stopped, exhaling softly as the blood rushed to her chest. She looked Holland up and down. She was wearing ordinary jeans, ordinary boots, and an ordinary high school sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed up to her elbows. She spotted the gold band on her left hand, but she couldn't spot the little cross on the inside of her right wrist. She let her head hang and let out a heavy sigh. "I forgot your tattoo," she murmured, reaching out and gently brushing the spot where it could be, revealing the tiny stick-and-poke symbol of Holland's faith in the divine.

"Now you're getting it." She offered the mug again, and this time Regan took it. "You didn't answer my question."

"The death one?" Holland gestured to walk, and Regan followed her back around the lodge to the trail of the little lawn lights that lit up the concrete path. All the campers were still around the fire, despite night's fast approach. "It would make sense," she continued. "I don't know about you, but I don't think that last gash I got from Nightmare could be any worse and life-threatening."

"Sure, but you've been blown up before." Holland hissed sharply as she burned her tongue on the hot chocolate. Regan snickered and blew softly on hers first before taking a sip. "Okay, so fighting a Nightmare demon isn't the same as getting blown up by a terrorist's bomb." Holland looked at her pointedly. "Side question. Do you blame yourself for Amira's death?"

 _Brown eyes, bright smile._ Regan looked down at the path for a moment. "No, I don't think so. Trust me, Hol, I've run that day in my head more times than Bob Ross picked up a paintbrush in his lifetime. Every single time, I came to the same answer that I couldn't have done anything. How were any of us supposed to know that sweet little Amira had a lovely ring of explosives strapped to her chest?"

Holland made a face. "That's morbid."

Regan rolled her eyes, but smirked. "I hate sugarcoating. No, I don't blame myself for her death. But I _do_ blame myself for yours."

"With that kind of logic, Hallie is equally to blame. She didn't stop you." She held up a hand to keep Regan from snapping back. "She saw you that whole time, remember? You and I were in her line of sight. She saw both of us. She would have seen you get up, would have seen that look in your eye, and _definitely_ could have stopped you, or at least warned me about the impending stabbing." She made an odd gesture with her hand. "Remember what Professor Minor used to say?"

''Did things go horribly wrong, or horribly right?'" Regan quoted.

"If you hadn't stopped me, you and Hallie probably wouldn't have met the Hero of Ferelden, the three of you probably wouldn't have caught up to the Inquisitor, you probably never would have fallen into the Fade, and you probably wouldn't have been paired with a spirit of Hope. It's as simple as that."

"That philosophy class was anything _but_ simple, Hol." They were just passing the first three cabins in the line along the lake: Eagle, Owl, and Heron. She could remember what the back room looked like in Heron. She had stayed there one night. Her cousin Michelle and her had the whole cabin to themselves, and the room Regan had slept in had two twin beds. It also had a door that led to a little footpath that led "downtown", where four more cabins sat: Upper and Lower Seymour and Badger. The staff stayed in the Seymour cabins, and campers who needed certain accessibility stayed in the Badger cabins.

"Earth to Regan!" Holland exclaimed loudly, laughing when Regan nearly toppled off the path. "Come on, let's head down to Vesper's Point and have an angry conversation with God or something. Maybe cry a little."

\---

Callie Mahariel ran a hand through Vanguard's feathers on the underside of his neck. She was so tired she couldn't even smile or giggle when he made that trilling sound she loved. He shook his head and nipped at her ponytail. She sighed and butted her forehead against him briefly. She was exhausted, more so mentally than physically. Trying to straighten out the Wardens was as if not more stressful than having only six Wardens to deal with the Awakening. And that included the other silly things like a second assassination attempt on her life, ruling in the court, and the rushed repairs that had to be done on the Vigil.

Her tainted blood tickled beneath her skin and she turned around with a smile, immediately stepping in to hug her husband. She was forever grateful they had both forgone their armor. Of all the things she had missed most about him, the first had been his voice and laugh, the second had been his trademark smirks and smiles, but the third had been his natural soft warmth that he always seemed to have.

"Hi there," he murmured into her hair, sighing heavily. Callie shuffled even closer to him--somehow--and squeezed him tighter. "I thought I'd find you out here."

"Vanguard doesn't like the crowds," she explained, leaning back to look up at him. The griffon in question appeared over them, nudging Alistair's mussed up hair with the tip of his beak. "Stop that," she chuckled, reaching up to push his head away.

"Someday you'll have to tell me every detail about your little adventure." He stepped away so he could run his fingers through Vanguard's feathers.

"You'll need at least a week to hear the whole thing," Callie joked.

She had told Alistair the important bits. She had chased lead after lead after lead during their two years apart. She had bounced from Avernus at Soldier's Peak, to a pretty dangerous lead in Nevarra just outside of the Tevinter Imperium, to the Grey Warden headquarters itself. She couldn't help but go on for nearly an hour about Weisshaupt. The architecture, the amount of Wardens, the mountains around it, and--most amazing of all--the library. It was there she had worked with a young Warden initiate and uncovered the greatest kept secret of the age, as well as the biggest breakthrough in the history of the Grey Wardens.

"Where are the others?" Alistair asked.

"Skyhold," Callie replied easily. "Valya, the initiate, is working with Leliana to keep them safe. I feel kind of bad for dumping them and taking off as soon as I could, but when I heard about the siege..." She shook her head, unwilling to dwell on what had transpired within the walls of the fortress. "I may have made this whole griffon situation a bit worse than it was supposed to be."

"What do you mean?" Alistair was looking at her, confused.

Callie rooted around Vanguard's saddlebags until she found what she was looking for. A leather-bound diary, ages old. "It's a very long story, but here's the short version. Garahel had a twin sister, Isseya. _She_ was the one that killed off the griffons, Alistair. She used blood magic to make the griffons accept the taint as we have, but it sent them into a frenzy. Even their paired handlers could barely keep them under control. The order to convert them all came from the First Warden himself." She paused, trying not to overreact like she had in front of Valya, scaring the poor girl. _"We_ killed the griffons, Alistair. All this time, we've just spouted the lie that they died from a Blight related illness, but it was our desperation to end the Fourth Blight that nearly brought the species to its end." She took a deep breath.

Alistair reached out and squeezed her arm. "That _does_ sound like a long story."

"The Fourth Blight lasted twelve years, remember?" She smirked weakly. "Seems like a lifetime compared to our little year. And we didn't even have the numbers in the first place. It's a damn miracle we managed to stop it at all." She shook her head. "My point is...Isseya managed to keep this secret for over four ages. And now I've just gone and told the world that griffons are suddenly not extinct anymore. In quite a flashy fashion as well. I give it maybe a fortnight before we hear from the First Warden himself." Vanguard stretched out his front legs like a dog, then rolled on his back, kicking up dirt and sand with his wings. His tail brushed past her shins roughly, making her gasp and giggle quietly. "He's like a puppy."

"And Skyhold has the other twelve," Alistair sighed, putting his hands on his hips as he watched the juvenile griffon roll around. Vanguard was just barely big enough to wear a saddle and carry Callie, even with as small as she was. He could only carry her half the distance he would be able to when he was older, but she was still thankful beyond thoughts and words to have brought such a gift back to the world. "Well, if we got them off our backs after our Blight, I'm sure we can manage this." He shrugged. "Who knows? Something tells me that the Inquisition won't be around forever. The last one didn't, anyhow." He brought his hand up and brushed his fingers along her cheek, down her neck, making her shiver. "Skyhold might just become the new home to rebuild the griffons in."

Callie chuckled, tucking herself into Alistair's gentle embrace, both watching Vanguard now play with his saddlebags. "I'm not sure how the Inquisitor would like that," she mused. "Waking up every day to find at least one or two griffons nesting on her balcony, distracting the patrols, drawing all sorts of attention?" She smiled into Alistair's threadbare tunic. "I just realized that I never warned the Inquisitor that she'll be greeted by a dozen griffons when she gets back. How did I forget something as simple as that?"

Alistair laughed, hugging her fiercely before threading his fingers with hers. "We can leave Lavellan to Leliana. Valya can worry about the griffons." He pressed a warm kiss to her temple. "You never fail to impress me, love," he murmured. "First, you fell the Archdemon, then you conjure a victory out of thin air during the Awakening, and now you've brought one of the most renowned species back from extinction." He sighed, and she felt him shake his head slowly. "You're ushering in a new age for the Grey Wardens, Cal, and you're not even thirty years old yet."

Callie frowned, despite feeling a small swell of pride at her husband's words of praise. "We need to finish up here," she muttered. "I know there's so much to do, but we can't fix things while we're still here. At Adamant. We should get other Wardens out of here. Back to Skyhold, maybe, I don't know, but they can't stay here. The only thing keeping the rest of the world from marching out here and slaughtering us is the fact that the Inquisition has assured everyone that they have the situation under control. But Lavellan's gone back to Skyhold. Next in command is Cullen Rutherford, and he's burdened with his own problems."

Alistair hummed, signaling that he was on the same page. "I've been thinking about that as well. But I also had an idea for that."

She looked up at him with a sly smirk on her lips. "An idea that's just crazy enough to work?"

"It's passable," he admitted. "It's a leap, but I think it's the best and only choice we have." He took her hand in his. "Let's go find Stroud. He might be sleeping, trying to get that leg better, but we need him for this to work."

"Lead on, Warden-Constable."

\---

"So, I was rooting through your stuff, and let's just say that I gave myself a headache from laughing too hard when I found this." Hallie held up Regan's copy of _Leaves of Grass._ "I should have known that you would bring this along. It's practically your Bible." She paged through the thick book, smiling at the pages that were dog-eared or had lines of highlighter ink over the titles of her favorite poems by Uncle Walt. She shot Regan a look. "You know, for all you're talk about being practical and a realist, you're a fucking romantic at heart, Re."

Regan, of course, didn't respond. She continued to lie flat on her back, a thin blanket pulled just above her waist, and most of her torso wrapped in thick bandages. Her face was shiny from days of sweat. Remnants of dirt and blood still lingered on her bare skin. She still hadn't woken up, and the effects of that were beginning to show. Her healing was slowing gradually. She was losing weight and muscle mass she couldn't afford to lose. The longer she stayed unconscious, the less of a chance she had of recovering at all. It was exhausting to keep herself thinking positively, but what else could Hallie do. Squander in self-pity? Hit something until the bones in her hands looked like crushed gravel? No, that wasn't her. All she could do was wait.

It was, quite possibly, the most excruciating thing she had ever had to endure in her life.

"I don't even remember your favorite piece from this thing," she continued on. "I _do_ remember the one time you used it as a shield to block a volleyball heading toward your face at Moon Beach. Pretty sure there's a picture back home of the imprint it left on the back cover." She sighed heavily and kept paging through the book. "If I find your favorite and read it to you, are you gonna wake up?"

Regan didn't respond. Again.

"What if I scream at you? Swear at you until I've secured my ticket to hell?"

Silence.

Hallie shook her head, tears burning her eyes. "You fucking bitch," she muttered. "I hope you know that Lavellan told me the whole thing. How you had to be fucking heroic and take on that Nightmare demon all on your fucking own? And after that, you have the fucking nerve to come back here to die? You couldn't just give me a _goddamn break_ and make it a little easier by dying over there in the Fade?" She was shouting now, not caring who heard her outside, or which resting soldiers she was waking up.

"The one time...the one _fucking_ time I really need you, Regan! And you some how the nerve to lay there all stoic and pitiful!" Hallie threw the book aside and got to her feet, pointing dejectedly. That "punch something" idea was sounding better and better with each second that passed. "You're so _insufferable!"_

The flaps of Regan's tent were thrown open, revealing a worried looking Commander of the Inquisition. Had Regan been awake and they'd been arguing normally, Hallie would have been a little taken aback. She had already made a point to stay on the Lion of Ferelden's good side, but she was sure that screaming at the unconscious form of the love of his life wasn't the best of impressions to give off. At the moment, however, she didn't care at all. She didn't even tone down her glare as she stared at Cullen. Her hands were curled into painful fists, and she longed to hit something, but the only punchable thing within range was his breastplate, and she was positive he wouldn't appreciate getting hit for no reason.

There was nothing to say, nothing to scream, nothing to even think about.

Giving nothing but a short huff of a sigh, Hallie stormed out of the tent, not even bothering to say sorry to Cullen or her sister. She wrapped her jacket tightly around herself and stormed through the camp and out until she was stomping through unpacked desert sand. She found an sandstone outcropping and swiftly climbed atop it, sitting down and pulling her knees close to her chest.

She wasn't sure how long she sat there, but by the time she heard someone coming to get her, her butt had gone numb and her hands and nose were freezing.

"Hal," came Krem's smooth tenor tone. She didn't even look up, just continued staring at the foreign stars on the horizon. Krem climbed on the outcrop and sat down next to her. "So, uh...half the camp heard you yelling at Regan..."

"Good," she murmured. "I wanted them to hear."

Krem, bless him, seemed to take a few seconds to consider his next words. "You wanted them to hear how you hate her for not waking up?" She glanced at him, seeing that he was wearing a simple shirt, jacket, and trousers, free of his usual heavy plate armor.

She buried her face in her arms. "I could scream and shout all I want, but she'll never hear me. She doesn't _want_ to hear me." She gulped back a sob and looked back up at the sky. "I want to go home, Krem. I want things to go back to the way they were before-" She caught herself, shaking her head.

"Before the Inquisition?" Krem supplied.

"No!" she accidentally snapped. "I mean...yes...but you don't understand." _Don't do it, Hallie. Not now. You've held out this long, and you can keep going!_

Krem's hand brushed along her upper arm. The gentlest of touches to let her know that he was there for her. "You're right," he almost whispered. "I don't understand. I can't help you." He took a breath. "But if you tell me, I might understand. I might be able to help. I certainly want to."

His words broke Hallie, and she started sobbing into her arms, unable to stop. She didn't know what to do. She didn't know how to get the words out. How could she even begin to explain to him how she was feeling, what she wanted? She wanted him to hold her, and yet she wanted to cry alone. She wanted Regan to wake up, but she didn't if she had to force her to live. She wanted to crawl into bed and forget about the world for a bit, but she also wanted to stand tall and kick the universe right in the balls for putting her through so much.

 _I want some goddamn french fries,_ she thought finally.

"I'm not from here," she blurted out, looking up at Krem. "Not the Free Marches, not even from Thedas. I was born in a town called Grafton, in a state called Wisconsin, in a fucking country called the United States! Regan too." She ran a hand through her hair and rested her head in her hand. "This isn't our world. And now that I say that out loud, it sounds so... _fucking stupid."_

"But I'm telling the absolute truth," she continued. "Ask me anything about my life, and I'll keep telling you the truth. I don't care about it anymore."

Krem only blinked, probably waiting just in case Hallie was going to go off again. "Uh..." he hummed, shaking his head. "Wait, let me get something straight... You're not a Marcher?"

Hallie burst out laughing, more tears rolling down her face. "I'm a Wisconsinite!" she choked out, smiling. "A Midwesterner! A stupid Cheesehead!" She dragged her hands down her face and continued to laugh delusionally. "A grungy gearhead who always has beer in her fridge."

_Time to nut up and start making some sense, Hallie._

"I'm sorry," she breathed. "This all sounds so ridiculous when I say it out loud. And I know I'm just confusing the hell out of you, Krem, but I can't keep this in anymore. I don't belong here. I belong back in my world, wearing blue jeans and sweatshirts. So does Regan." She gave in to temptation and nudged her way into the crook of Krem's shoulder.

"Okay," Krem breathed, his arms wrapping around her protectively. "You're right. This does sound ridiculous. I don't even know what questions I want to ask. But you're far from scaring me away." He pressed a kiss to her temple and rested her forehead against hers. "Regan's gonna wake up, Hal. And if she doesn't, I'm gonna kill her for leaving you like this."

Hallie let out a bubbly giggle. "I'm surprised. Really. But thank you, Krem. I don't have the words to tell you how relieved I am. Like I just peed myself or something." Krem choked out laughter at her remark. "But I promise I didn't."

He kissed her forehead again and got to his feet with a grunt, holding his hands out to her. Once she was up, she was about to simply lace her fingers with his and probably walk back to camp together, but she let out a yelp when Krem full on picked her up, his strong, thick arms keeping her pressed to him like she weighed nothing. Hallie smiled and locked her ankles behind him, her arms slipping over his shoulders as she rested her head in the crook of his neck.

"Some might say that this is embarrassing," she mumbled against his copper skin.

"But not you?"

She let her eyes fall close. "Never." He carried her all the way back to camp, almost lulling her to sleep by the gentle sway of his stride. "I should probably go get Regan's book. She'll be pissed at me if I let her bleed all over it."

"No problem." He changed direction and set her down once they got close enough to the mass of tents that made up the field hospital. Before she could duck into the tent, a healer popped out and bumped right into her.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" she quickly blurted out. She tucked her hair behind her pointed ear. "How is she?"

The healer seemed to notice who she was, and quickly gave her a small smile. "Awake, actually."

Hallie's arms shot out and grasped the man's shoulders, gripping tightly. "What?" she nearly shrieked. "No fucking way..." She shoved him out of the way and threw open the tent flaps. Cullen was sitting on Regan's left, holding her hand tightly with both of his. He had taken his gloves off, she noticed. Regan's head was turned to the side, eyes closed, but very much awake. Her breathing was faster and stronger, and she seemed to be wiggling her foot beneath her blanket.

"Holy mother of fuck all," Hallie cursed randomly.

Regan's lips twitched into a smile at the sound of her sister's voice. She raised her free hand, shaking slightly, and threw up a peace sign. "Guess what?" she muttered quietly, her voice painfully hoarse. "I lived, bitch."

\---

Lyanna slid heavily from her horse, stumbling slightly, but managing to push herself back enough to turn away. Skyhold was, as always, a welcome sight, but she couldn't help but see grey in the in between parts. She was exhausted, ready to trod up to her quarters and forget about the world for however many hours it took to forget about Adamant.

There weren't enough hours in existence to forget what she saw.

She slid between Inquisition soldiers and blindly made her way up the stairs, through the main hall, and up to those quarters she called hers. The second she was through the door, she started undoing buckles and laces. Boots first. Jacket next, thrown carelessly over her chaise by the railing. She stripped all the way down until she was as naked as the day she was born. She could feel the layers of sweat, dirt, and dust covering her skin from the trip home. A hot bath would be welcome, but she didn't feel like waiting for her tub to be filled. Instead, she pulled on her threadbare sleeping shirt and shorts and slipped beneath the covers of her bed.

She awoke sometime later, far after the sun had dipped below the mountains and the horizon itself. She stayed in bed, simply breathing, not even thinking much. She supposed she should have been hungry, thirsty, or ready for that much needed bath, but she wasn't. She felt an itch beneath her skin, begging her to do _something._ She finally cracked open her eyes and sat up, slipping her legs over the edge of the bed and bracing her hands on her knees.

_"She's still thinking. Singing and screaming at the same time. She doesn't know where she is."_

_Regan,_ Lyanna found herself thinking over and over. The unique name of one of her closest friends she had condemned to death in the Fade. Of course, she had stumbled out like a drunk stumbles out of a bar, but it didn't make her feel any better. She didn't blame Hawke for dragging her through the rift, and she didn't blame Cullen for that look he had given her. Creators, but it had nearly broken her. Cullen had been there, cradling Regan's dying body, begging his Maker for mercy. He had looked up at Lyanna then. Just a brief glance, but it held more meaning to her than the Chant of Light did to Andrastians.

_You did this. You killed her._

Lyanna swiped a thick blanket from one of her drawers before wandering out of her room. Perhaps she could find motivation elsewhere? She figured she could stare at the war table for an idea, as she's done before in the dead of night. Even as she made her way there, she knew that it wouldn't help her in the slightest. Their business at Adamant was finished, and the cleanup was underway. They would have to wait for Cullen to return to Skyhold to start moving on to their next task. There would be no use in staring at the war table, searching for an answer to a question she hadn't even thought of yet.

"Inquisitor?"

She looked up and made eye contact with her ambassador. Josephine Montilyet sat, as usual, at her desk. The surface was covered in paper of varying sizes and numbers. No doubt she was going through correspondence papers from nobles, all of whom had something to gain or lose from their war against Corypheus.

"I trust you're feeling rested after your return journey from Adamant?" she assumed, her smooth voice like a harmony to the deep crackling from her fireplace, still providing warmth in the cold of night.

"Sure," Lyanna mumbled, pulling her blanket tighter around her and making her way across Josephine's office. "I just need to think." Before she could be questioned, she pushed through the opposite door and closed it behind her with a sigh. She thought briefly of the lengthy report she knew she would eventually have to confront. She wasn't sure there was enough tea in the world to take away the headache she knew it would cause.

The Anchor twinged painfully as she was passing the massive hole in the wall on her way to the war table. She cursed at it under her breath and tried to shake the pain away. She looked out through the hole and peered toward the mountains. She was struck with a strong appreciation regarding Skyhold's location. It was far enough away from everywhere else to the point where she could occasionally escape her titles and responsibilities. Far enough away from the prying eyes of the rest of the world to enjoy some peace and quiet every once in a while.

Lyanna sat down abruptly, sliding her legs over the edge and leaning against the crumbling wall with a heavy sigh. She was still exhausted. The trip back from the Approach had been slow and grueling, and she couldn't help but feel she'd lost more than she'd won at Adamant. What she'd seen had haunted her every night since. In reality, the battle had gone off almost perfectly. But Lyanna was stuck on what had gone wrong. Had they been thirty seconds late, the ritual would have been completed. The Archdemon would have killed them had it not been for Warden Mahariel's perfectly timed dive from the skies. And then they'd almost lost Regan down in the Fade. It wasn't like she could magically perfect the Inquisition's movements within the world, but there wasn't any harm in hoping.

There was too much to think about. The Orlesian Wardens had become the most hated people in Orlais over the course of just a day. The Hero of Ferelden, Callie Mahariel, had reappeared after two years of total silence. Regan had suddenly become a mage and fused with a spirit of Hope in the span of maybe a minute. The Winter Ball at Halamshiral was fast approaching. Lyanna buried her head in her hands, sighing. She knew it wasn't ever possible, but she couldn't help but feel completely alone. She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. She didn't know what to do.

The next thing she knew, a warm hand was gently shaking her shoulder. She mumbled in protest and tried to turn away, but the gentle shaking soon became a firm grip on her upper arm.

"Inquisitor!" a firm, Antivan voice said. Lyanna opened her eyes, greeted by the same mountainscape as before. She looked at the hand on her shoulder and followed it up to the face of her ambassador. "You fell asleep," Josephine observed.

Lyanna cleared her throat and rubbed her eyes. "Yeah, I suppose I did," she muttered. She shifted slightly, realizing Josephine was still holding onto her. "I'm not going to fall, Josephine."

Josephine raised an eyebrow. "And your statement is based on what evidence?" she challenged. Only then did she release her hand.

"I'm stubborn." Lyanna went back to looking out. "It's late. You should get some sleep, Lady Ambassador. The Inquisition would be dead in the water without you."

 _"Inquisitor."_ Lyanna closed her eyes again, sighing. She had a strong feeling she knew what Josephine was going to say next. "As one of your advisors, I would hope you practice what you preach. You need sleep, a hot bath, and several good meals after what you've gone through to ensure the Grey Wardens were taken care of."

Josephine's words felt like needles in Lyanna's head. "Taken care of..." she echoed in a breath. She nearly blurted out everything right there to Josephine, but she held her tongue. She refused to break down. After Haven, she had promised herself she would never look weak in front of those who needed her to appear strong. Especially Josephine. She understood the pressure. She at least had an inkling of how difficult it was for her. She was a Dalish First in a world of human nobles, both Ferelden and Orlesian. The Orlesians were especially bitter, and sometimes it took hours, even days for Lyanna to calm down.

"Would...would you like me to sit with you?"

The offer took Lyanna off guard, and she found herself nodding slowly. She didn't want to be alone.

Josephine set her board far from the edge, and took her time sliding in next to Lyanna. The elf automatically shifted her blanket, offering half to her ambassador. Josephine accepted the blanket, thanking her quietly. Together they sat at the edge in silence. Lyanna resumed resting against the wall, but she felt no further desire to sleep. She couldn't help but notice that Josephine was really warm. And smelled faintly like cider and something baked, like bread right out of the oven.

"I should have stayed," Lyanna found herself saying. "At Adamant. I should have stayed. I didn't _need_ to leave right away, but I couldn't stand looking at those walls anymore. Couldn't stand the looks I got from the Wardens." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "But I should have stayed. I could have endured it."

Josephine's hand came to rest on Lyanna's arm. "The world will not fault you for occasionally thinking of yourself, Inquisitor-"

"Lyanna. Please, Josephine...just Lyanna."

"Lyanna," she corrected. "Yes, perhaps you should have stayed. Perhaps you could have provided encouragement to our wounded soldiers. It hardly matters now. You're back at Skyhold, recovering yourself." Josephine looked pointedly at the faded bruises across Lyanna's collarbone and jawline. "It will not benefit the Inquisition if you work yourself to an early grave."

"But what happens when I can't hop over that grave? What happens when I finally lose my footing?" She shrugged. "Let's hope it doesn't happen before the Winter Ball. You probably wouldn't approve."

"Inquis-" Josephine caught herself. _"Lyanna."_

"Let me sulk for a little bit, Josie. Please." She gave a slight smirk. "Otherwise I'm taking my blanket back."

Josephine let out a cute chuckle. "As you wish, Lyanna."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck you Bioware, I'll always have my Wardens find the griffons!


	19. to want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regan and Hallie struggle to carry on after the death of their third sister. The Inquisitor comes to terms with the fact that she is, in fact, alone. The Wardens make a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: suicide talk

Regan settled against a set of barrels, breathing heavily as pain rocketed through her entire body. She was in absolutely no shape to be moving around, but she was tired of lying in a tent with the smell of sweat, blood, and healing salves. She needed fresh air, even if it was the dry, desert stuff. She pushed her matted hair out of her face and breathed deeply. She tried to, at least, but had to stop halfway through when her chest protested in immense pain. She could only begin to imagine the slight panic either Cullen or Hallie would cause once they found she was gone, but she  _needed_ this moment to herself. She unbuckled her prosthetic quickly and tossed it to her right, forgotten.

She closed her eyes, part of her afraid she would fall asleep. For endless days on the road, she had been forced to sleep simply due to a lack of anything else to do. She couldn't walk and she couldn't ride a horse, so she had been reduced to lying in the back of a wagon, grimacing in pain for hours on end. Another part of her had wished she had stayed back at Adamant until she was well enough to travel, but she won the screaming match with Hallie and wasn't about to back out over as simple thing as pain. Another light, cool breeze kissed her pinked cheeks. She felt exhausted and restless at the same time, and it killed her that she simply couldn't deal with either on her own. She had to admit that she wasn't getting back to her tiny tent without help.

Regan was no stranger to pain. That was grossly obvious. But the injuries she had received from Adamant had been numerous. The worst was the deep gash across her midsection. She smirked, remembering how she hadn't even seen the blow from Nightmare. She had been avoiding tripping over her own feet and then suddenly she was ass over tits in the air, landing right on her right hip, which had later been identified as fractured. It made breathing horribly painful from time to time, and stretching absolutely impossible.

She felt the newly familiar taste of metal on her tongue and smirked again. At first, she had been worried she was tasting radiation in the air, but then she reminded her fevered mind that it was highly unlikely. Nevertheless, she brought it up to a healer, and they had mentioned some mages had the same experience when they had worked their mana to its sizzling end. Needless to say, the healer advised her not to do it again.

_Oh, sure, I'll just kindly ask Nightmare to fuck off next time. Thanks, asshole._

"Stop scaring the literal fuck out of me, Re, please," Hallie said, suddenly appearing and sitting next to her in a heap. "You in pain?"

"Yep," Regan replied easily, keeping her eyes closed. "I needed some fresh air."

"So, you decided to somehow get to the edge of camp instead of just, I don't know, sticking your head out of your tent?" Hallie paused. "How _did_ you get out here, anyway?"

Regan felt blindly for her prosthetic leg and held it up once she found it. "Hurt like all hell, but you know me. I'm stubborn."

"No fucking shit."

A couple of minutes of silence passed between the two of them. Regan leaned over and rested her head on Hallie, wincing in pain a little at the slight stretch in her torso. She couldn't help but wonder what effect her decisions had caused in their relationship as sisters. Cullen had briefly told her of Hallie's outburst when she had been unconscious, and she felt terrible. She had done it again: made her family believe that she wouldn't recover, wouldn't come back to them.

Hallie giggled. Regan shifted her cheek against her shoulder and frowned. "What's funny?"

Her sister giggled louder. "Do-" She took a second to keep laughing. "Do you remember that dating simulator we were obsessed with?"

Regan gripped Hallie's upper arm as she snickered and felt pangs of pain. "You're gonna have to be more specific than that," she coughed. "Please, before I keep laughing."

"Dream Daddy."

Regan burst out laughing, pain shooting all across her abdominals and chest. Coughing soon followed, and she kept a firm grip on Hallie's arm. She tried to stop laughing, but she was too tired and too amused to do so. She moved to lay down in the dust sand, not caring how dirty she was getting. "Of course I do!" she exclaimed, resting a hand over her heart and taking as deep a breath as she could. "I remember watching Ray play it! He voiced Hugo, remember? And he romanced him so it was like he was dating himself!"

Hallie followed quickly into laughter. "I forgot about that! Wasn't Hugo the one who was the English teacher-"

"With an adorably endearing obsession for wrestling!" Regan finished, her other hand gently pressed over her bandages wrapped around her midsection. "Stop making me laugh! I'm gonna pass out..."

Hallie immediately quieted. "Wait, fuck, really?"

She had initially said it as a joke, but the older Galloway sister frowned up at the night sky. The twinkles of the stars made her stop and think, but when they seemed to move on their own accord, she nodded slowly. "Yeah, I think so...mind grabbing my leg and dragging me back to my tent? And try to avoid Cullen along the way. No need to give him...a panic attack...tonight...shit..." She squeezed her eyes shut and fought off passing out with everything she had left.

"Heya there, Galloway."

The sudden, different voice made Regan freeze, terrified. She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead and found it searing. "Oh, fuck..." she breathed, somehow finding the strength and motivation to peer up at the sadly grinning face of Evan Washington, her former best friend in the army. He was dressed like she had always seen him in their spare time: combat boots, fatigue pants, and standard issue olive t-shirt. His chocolate brown hair was mussed up, sticking up in the front from how he wore his helmet.

"Didya miss me?"

"Fuck no," she breathed.

\---

"How is she?" Alistair asked Cullen as they stood together in the command tent. They were waiting for Mahariel to return with Stroud and Captain Rylen.

"Sleeping still, I hope," Cullen responded, staring down at the map as he answered. "Hallie is with her. We thought she was getting better, but her fever's come back." He glanced up at the Warden, at the man he had known as a boy. "Only she can pull herself out of this," he finished in a mumble.

Alistair squeezed his shoulder briefly. "She will," he said confidently. "You should have seen her fight in the Fade. She was like a whirlwind with those swords. She wasn't just fighting to get back here. She was fighting to get back to you."

"Thank you, Alistair."

The heavy flaps of the command tent opened, and Mahariel, Stroud, and Rylen all entered. They  took places around the table. Mahariel next to Alistair, Rylen next to Cullen, and Stroud connecting the circle. On the table in front of them was a map of the Western Approach. The Abyssal Reach blackened the lower portion of the map.

"Alistair had an idea," Mahariel started. "The Wardens can't go back to Adamant, and Orlais certainly doesn't want them in Montsimmard. Quite frankly, I don't want them getting caught in the civil war like we were back during the Blight. And, generally, it would be a bad idea to have them go back to Skyhold. We don't need that kind of trouble. So...us three Wardens had a proposition of sorts."

"Griffon Wing Keep," Alistair interjected. He cocked his head and smirked ever so slightly. "Funny how our plan has such a fittingly named fortress." He pointed to the fortress on the map. "Look, there's no easy way to say and ask this." He looked pointedly at Cullen. "We want to station the Orlesian Wardens there."

"What about Clarel?" Cullen couldn't help but ask. The Orlesian Warden-Commander was still healing from her wounds she had sustained during the battle, but very much alive.

"We've been talking," Mahariel said. "She was the first to say that she isn't fit to command the Wardens any longer." She took a deep breath and smiled at Stroud. "Luckily, we have a willing Warden veteran to take her place."

"Willing for two years," Stroud corrected the Warden-Commander. "Until I can find a suitable replacement."

Mahariel continued on. "Griffon Wing Keep would allow the Wardens to keep a presence in Orlais but stay far enough away to big cities and the capital to both keep them out of the civil war and trouble in general. Plus, the Inquisition can keep an eye on them." She waved her hand passively. "Look, we know it's not a whole plan. Maybe sixty percent of a plan."

"More like forty," Rylen quipped.

"Forty-five," Alistiar argued.

"The _point_ is..." Mahariel caught their attention once again, but she failed to completely hide the smile that crept onto her lips. "Griffon Wing Keep was taken over by the Inquisition. It's commanded by the Inquisition." She looked to Cullen once again. "We need you to agree to this plan. Otherwise we have to march every single Orlesian Warden all the way to Amaranthine, leaving Orlais with no one." She paused. "They have nowhere else to go."

Cullen straightened up and cupped his chin with his gloved fingers, thinking. Mahariel was right. The Grey Wardens couldn't keep going on like they were. They needed to rest, settle, and fix what had been broken. He agreed that Stroud was the best choice to lead them. Alistair and Mahariel already had their own Wardens to look after as Warden-Commander and Warden-Constable. He couldn't help but wish the Inquisitor was with them, but they had to make do. The Orlesians certainly wouldn't be happy about the Grey Wardens staying in the country, especially after all they had done, but it would no doubt cause plenty of trouble if they marched them across the country to Ferelden. Even then, Cullen doubted there was enough space at Vigil's Keep for both branches of Wardens.

It made sense, but that didn't make it any less risky.

Rylen shrugged. "Why the hell not?" he asked. "You've got my support, Wardens. This plan sounds just crazy enough to work." He held a hand out. "For now, at least. I won't jump to any conclusions." He looked to Cullen. "Whaddya say, Commander?"

_The man never couldn't help but be a_ little _cocky,_ Cullen thought.

"How soon can you get the Grey Wardens ready to move, Warden-Commander?" he asked Mahariel.

Her answer was a wicked smile. "As soon as my ass leaves this tent, Commander."

\---

Lyanna woke up in a cold sweat, panting as she clutched at her heart. She looked around, her eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness.

_You're okay,_ she told herself, taking deep breaths. _You're okay. You're alive. You're in your bed, in your room, at Skyhold. The battle is over. You sealed the rift. Regan is alive._

Lyanna flopped back down to her pillows, sighing. She pressed her hands over her sweaty face and listened to her heart slow back to its normal rate. She wished she could ask Solas for help, but he was still with the bulk of the Inquisition's forces, slowly making its way back to Skyhold and the camp below. She knew she wouldn't rest well, actually or metaphorically, until they were all back, which would hopefully be within the next couple of days.

She slipped out of bed and pulled her pants and boots on, tying the laces and swiping her spare blanket from the foot of her bed. In the past couple of weeks, she had taken to spending her sleepless nights by walking through the gardens or along the battlements. She would even occasionally make the climb up to that stretch of hallway to sit in the hole in the wall. Leliana had found her there one night, but didn't bother to ask why. She already knew. Of course she already knew. She was _Leliana._

She was pining for the hole in the wall tonight. She made her way through the mostly-silent keep, trying to avoid the skeleton crew of night guards so they wouldn't ask her any questions. She knocked on Josephine's office door, but upon hearing no answer, peeked through anyway. The fire was reduced to glowing embers. The candles had long since been snuffed out. For once, Josephine wasn't working herself to death throughout the night. Lyanna closed the door behind her and made her way across the room to the opposite door.

The wind was blowing softly through the hole in the wall. Lyanna pulled her blanket tighter around her and sat down, sliding her legs over the edge. The sky was clear tonight, revealing the stars and their shining light. She picked out the seasonal constellations, reciting both their popular names and their Dalish names. Dorian had mentioned to her once that the Tevinter Imperium had some of their own names for constellations claimed by the Chantry, but she couldn't recall any of them. although she appreciated the times she had gotten the opportunities to use the astrariums around Ferelden and Orlais.

_I should ask Dagna about building one for Skyhold,_ she thought with a small smile. _Might make my nighttime excursions a little more interesting._

As she fiddled with the corner of her blanket, she began to hum. Anything, really. Bits of the old songs of her people. Tavern songs the soldiers sang drunkenly every once in a while down at the Herald's Rest. Even a few verses of the Chant she had caught Cullen humming every once in a while when he thought no one was listening.

She couldn't help but keep her focus close to the tension she was carrying in her shoulders and back. It wouldn't go away, no matter what she did to lessen it. She had been attributing it to the fact that not everyone was back at Skyhold yet, but she couldn't help but feel that there was something more to it. Something that was fueling her nightmares.

Maybe it was-

The door to her right opened up, nearly scaring her right off the edge. She clutched at both the wall and her chest as the least-expected person walked through the door.

Lady Ambassador Josephine Montilyet.

Josephine gave a similar jump when she spotted Lyanna. "Oh!" she squeaked, stopping in the doorway. "Inquisitor! I-I didn't expect to..."

"See me here?" Lyanna finished, smiling warmly at her ambassador. "Would you like me to leave?"

"No!" she quickly responded. "That won't be necessary. I'll leave you be."

"Josie." Her nickname made her ambassador pause. "You obviously came here for the same reason I did. I just happened to beat you to it." She gestured to the empty space next to her. "Would you like to join me?"

Josephine opened her mouth as if to protest, but quickly snapped it shut. "It would be my pleasure, Inquisitor."

"L-Lyanna," the elf stuttered out as her cheeks flushed. Josephine carefully took a spot at her side, thanking her when she offered half of her blanket as she did the last time. "Lyanna, Josephine. I'm just Lyanna when I'm hanging on the edge of the world, remember?"

They talked idly for a while, mostly about the upcoming plans for the Winter Ball. Josephine even helped her review some names and titles of nobles she had to make sure _not_ to trip up in front of during the ball. Despite her waning confidence in regards to her ability to stand up and strut her stuff in front of all of Orlais, she was determined to be perfect. "Good enough" wouldn't be sufficient. She had to be flawless.

She could only imagine how many grey hairs she would get from such a night.

Eventually, silence engulfed them. Josephine yawned frequently, her head tipping every few seconds. Lyanna noticed and offered her shoulder to her ambassador, surprised by her own words. Surely she hadn't just said that? Luckily--or surprisingly--Josephine didn't give her much time for wishing for the words back, because she took the offer fully. She scooted even closer to Lyanna before resting her head on her shoulder. Silence filled the gaps once again, leaving both women with nothing but their thoughts.

Lyanna found herself dozing off, enraptured by the heat of their bodies pressed together. Her back was pulled tighter than a bowstring, and she took a wild guess that she wouldn't be unable to relax as long as Josie was with her.

_How long has that been a thing?_ she asked herself. She could recount at least a dozen times when her Antivan ambassador had made her blush over the simplest of things. She groaned inwardly when she realized that Leliana had probably noticed every single one that had occurred at the war table. It didn't take a whole lot. A brush of a hand there, a light joke or teasing tone of voice there, and off her mind went, coming up with all sorts of questions, images, and scenarios for her to embarrass herself with.

Solas had never made her felt that way. She felt small with him. Small and vulnerable. Both feelings played a part in her falling out of her liking him. And Solas had never been overly interested in their relationship to begin with, almost if it was something as convenient as a small source of entertainment. _Entertainment._ The word made her frown. It didn't matter to her if it was true or not. She had been tired of feeling like that. Regan had told her that nobody gets into relationships for the other person, that they do it for themselves, and she had told herself that every minute leading up to when they broke things off.

"I'm not sure this is going to work," she had said, trying not to look like she was nervous as all hell by sticking her hands in the pockets of the jacket she had been wearing.

"And what is that, _da'len?"_

_Little one,_ she had translated in her head, almost snarling. What had once sounded like a cute pet name had turned sour. _Little one?!_ She had taken a breath before saying, "Us. Whatever _this_ is."

Solas had looked confused, but the silence had given him his answers. He had nodded once with a quiet, "Ah. I see." She had wanted to punch him. Even during their breakup, she couldn't get a rise out of him. She had stared, wondering how in the world he could be so...so...emotionally numb.

She sniffed and straightened a little, her back protesting with a kink in her lower spine. Normally, she would have immediately worked it out so she could stay in fit shape for any emergency that could or could not demand her attention. However, with Josephine still fast asleep against her right arm, her movement was limited. Skyhold was asleep, dead silent in the middle of the night. Lyanna found herself wishing she was up in her bed, curled beneath a heavy blanket, all set to sleep in the next day.

_With Josie right there with her._

She blushed from her cleavage to the tips of her ears. She used her free hand to smack her palm to her forehead, trying desperately to think of something else. _Anything else!_

Unfortunately, her sudden move had jostled Josephine from sleep. She yawned widely as she came to, rubbing her eyes. "Oh...my apologies, Inquisitor." She yawned again. "I didn't mean to fall asleep on you."

Lyanna shook her head, half-succeeding in smothering a wide grin. "Don't worry about it, Josephine. Your company is most welcome." She herself yawned. "You can sleep on my shoulder anytime."

_Fucking smooth, Lyanna._ She brought a hand up and pinched the bridge of her nose. "That was a terrible line, wasn't it?" Calling herself out made Josephine laugh, and her chest swelled with pride. Her laugh was high and bright like a Chantry bell. All she wanted to do at the moment was draw the sound out again. "Forgive me, Lady Ambassador. I'm sure you don't want to hear this amount of awkwardness from the person about to be thrown to the Orlesian court."

Josephine giggled. It was even sweeter than her laugh. "I beg do differ, Lyanna," she said. "You have enough determination to endure whatever the nobles will think to throw at you."

"You flatter me."

"Perhaps I aim to."

Lyanna blushed as hot as dragonfire, staring pointedly at the stars. _How in the hell do you top something as smooth as that?_ "Good," she managed, inwardly cursing at herself.

_Nice one, oh great Inquisitor._

\---

Regan pushed away the bread and broth, sighing and settling her arms on her knee pulled close to her chest, ignoring the still-lingering pain she had from her injuries. She kept staring out the window, studying the mountains for the thousandth time of the hour. She knew she should eat. She hadn't for the past day and a half. There were a million and one things to do around Skyhold, but none of them interested her. She felt overwhelmingly relieved to be back home, but couldn't shake her depression free.

She _should_ want to get up, practice, go for a run, maybe spend some time with friends, but she didn't even have the motivation to move her feet to the floor in an attempt to get up. All she wanted to do was either sit or lie down. Nothing else. She wouldn't even wear her prosthetic. In a bout of anger, she'd thrown it from her window and hadn't worn it since, limiting her movement to her room. Even then, she didn't move a lot.

Her whole depressive episode was pissing Hallie off, she knew.

They were on the edge of another horrible screaming match. Regan could feel it in the tension she felt every time they were in the same room. That one night of fond memories and laughter hadn't changed Regan's attitude substantially. She couldn't even bring herself to look Hallie in the eye anymore, and she found herself hating the fact that she had twin sisters. Hallie and Holland had the same face. How in the world could she look at Hallie and not see Holland, not see the fury and betrayal that had driven daggers into her soul? She saw Holland almost every night, in the terrors that haunted her dreams. Almost every night, she had to murder her sister again, feel the warmth of the blood that had flowed from her body and stained Regan's skin.

As a result, she wasn't sleeping a lot either.

Holland hadn't left the world without leaving Regan a few mementos to remember her by. A scar on her side, just below her ribs, and the one that split both her top and bottom lip on the left side of her face. She'd wake up from her nightmares, covered in sweat, screaming, feeling the burn of the scars as if they'd been carved into her skin seconds before. Sometimes she could swear she felt blood in her mattress and sheets instead of sweat. On those nights, Hallie would hear her, run into her room, and spend hours calming her down. Talking to her, crying with her, and repeating over and over and over that it wasn't her fault.

She could feel the consequences of her actions every second. She had a hard time staying awake. She had terrible headaches. She had nausea from not eating, and didn't eat because of the nausea. She was losing weight rapidly, and almost all of her muscle. She was short-tempered, irritable, and couldn't focus worth a damn. She was furious at herself, but was at peace with her decision to simply stop. It was so much easier than fighting. It was easier to ignore the problems and skip right to the conclusion of giving up.

"That's bullshit," Wash said, leaning back in the chair by the window.

Regan sighed and closed her eyes, setting her chin on her arms. "Can't you just leave me alone for more than twenty minutes?" she mumbled.

"Nope." He pulled his knife out of a pocket in the pants of his fatigues and started balancing the tip of the blade in the palm of his hand. "When are you gonna pull out of this?"

"Hopefully never," she answered evenly, stretching out on her back, feeling a familiar ache in both her spine and her shortened leg. She clasped her hands together and rested them on her stomach, staring blankly at the ceiling. "Look...I've made my decision, Wash.

"To fucking kill yourself? Cause that worked so well last time."

His words sent a chill straight to her wrists, to the pale white scars that painted each of them. She still wore the tight leather bands around her wrists, hiding them. She flipped him off lazily and let her hand fall back to her middle. "Woulda worked if the cops had taken sixty more seconds getting to my house." She scoffed. "You know, I don't even remember most of that night? Doctors said the blood loss helped me forget." She sat up. "'Helped' me forget. They said it like it was a fucking blessing from God that I couldn't remember getting in the bathtub and slitting my own goddamn wrists."

Wash kept his eyes on his knife, keeping it nearly perfectly balanced. "I don't remember dying," he started. "No, the last thing I remember is Amira. I was giving her a blue windmill. It was blowing in the wind, and she giggled infectiously when I first showed it to her. She was wearing...that shirt with the purple and blue flowers. Carmelita had put all the girls' hair up in French braids. She was so happy that day."

"Wash..." she warned.

He kept going on like he hadn't heard her. "Didn't even see the flash, or hear the explosion. Last thing I remember is Amira. Her smiling face and happy giggle."

"Wash!" she snapped. He caught his knife by the handle and slipped it back into his pocket, looking at her with an innocent expression. She scowled at him. "That's the last thing I remember too, okay? Just with a different angle. I woke up with half of my bod covered in burns and my leg was gone." She swung herself out of bed and hopped on her one foot over to Wash, leaning on the wall, jabbing her index finger against his chest. "You didn't have to live with what came after! You didn't have to see the pictures or read the reports! You didn't have to speak at your funeral and talk about what happened!"

She spread her one arm out in exasperation. "Everyone was so _fucking_ glad that I was still alive and _nobody_ thought to think about how much I didn't want to be!" Bitter tears were rolling down her face. "I tried once already! What's wrong with another go?!"

The door opened abruptly. Hallie stood in the doorway, cheeks flushed and hair windblown. A wave of nausea washed over Regan and she stumbled into the chair. Wash was gone. Technically, he was never in the room with her. He had died in 2010, making little kids happy with plastic windmills, and she had been forced to carry on by the expectations of the world. Hallie was at her side in an instant, kneeling beside the chair and pushing Regan's longer hair out of her face. She broke down once again, crying, dry heaving, mumbling incoherently.

"It's okay...I'm here, Re..."

Regan looked up to stare at her sister, breathing unevenly. She dragged her hands down her face and tried to take a deep breath. "Why don't you hate me?" she choked out. "I murdered your twin!"

Hallie tightened her grip on Regan's arm. "You _didn't_ murder her, Re. You were protecting me and yourself."

Regan ripped herself away from her sister and stood up. "No!" She spun around on Hallie. "A rose by any other fucking name will smell just as goddamn sweet and I _murdered_ her, Hallie! How are you not fucking furious with me?!"

Hallie shot to her feet. "Because I can't lose two sisters in the span of a month!" she screamed back, her face turning as red as her hair. "But you're so fucking okay with locking yourself in here and starving yourself to death!"

"Yes, I am!" Regan shouted at the top of her lungs. "What else is there to do?! Years ago, you understood! You sat beside my hospital bed and promised me you understood why I decided to slit my goddamn wrists! Why is it so hard this time around?!"

"BECAUSE HOLLAND IS _DEAD!_ Our parents are gone! Our home is gone! We have nothing left from our lives but each other, and you're too goddamn stubborn to see something that _fucking simple!"_

The volume and weight of her words made them both freeze, breathing heavily at each other in anger. A spot of movement near the open door made Regan look away. The Inquisitor and Cullen were both standing in the hall, looking in with concerned expressions.

Wash walked around her, standing and glancing between both parties. "Only one of them knows who you really are, Regan," he pointed out, crossing his arms. "Yet you're sleeping with the other one..." He clicked his tongue and shook his head. "Lying in a relationship doesn't seem too healthy."

She let out a seething exhale, clenching her jaw, tightening her hands into fists, and closing her eyes. Tears rolled down her face. "Tell him," she muttered. Her eyes snapped open and she pointed dejectedly at Cullen. "Tell him!" she shouted at her sister. "Everything! Tell him everything! I don't give a fuck! _Tell him!"_ She took a deep breath. "But first...get the fuck out of my room and just leave me alone."

\---

Lyanna scratched her head, making a face as she put a hand on her hip and turned to the open balcony doors. There was an uncomfortable silence between the three of them that choked her quarters. Cullen was seated on her sofa, running his hands through his hair. Hallie was lying down on her stomach in front of the fire, her forehead resting on her arms. Both her and Lyanna were tired of talking, tired of explaining, and just tired overall. Regan had requested that they tell Cullen everything, so they did, and it had taken hours.

She couldn't give enough credit to her commander for how well he listened. He never interrupted, and only asked a handful of questions. She highly doubted he understood every word they said, but, then again, neither did she. She accepted the things she probably would never understand as something she wasn't _meant_ to understand. It seemed like Cullen was doing the same.

As for Regan herself... Lyanna sighed and sent out to her balcony, leaning her arms on the edge, sighing. They hadn't yet gotten to dealing with the present situation of Regan. All she knew was that Regan hadn't left her room in over a week, and she had stopped seeing Cullen. And the screaming at her sister about what she wanted to do? It sent uncomfortable shivers down Lyanna's spine. She had seen many people at their lowest, but Regan had outdone them all for how abysmal her intentions were.

"Who else knows?" Cullen asked, his voice even.

"You, me..." Lyanna trailed off, shrugging. "Bull, too, I think."

"Bull doesn't know the whole story," came Hallie's muffled voice. She rolled on her back and sighed. "But Regan mentioned something about how Bull knew more about her than most people. He must have just figured it out on his own."

Cullen opened his mouth a few times, but no words came out. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, opening them and saying, "How?"

_How._ The little, three-lettered word held so much potential. The simplicity of the word compared to the complexity of the answer it needed almost made Lyanna laugh. She pitied Hallie for having the weight of such a question on her shoulders, especially since she already knew there would be no answer. No comprehensible one, anyway. How could the sister even _begin_ to explain how her and her sister had landed in the middle of Thedas from another world?

And Hallie's answer to such a question?

A simple shrug.

"I have no fucking idea," she admitted with a slight shake of her head. "Not only do I not know how we ended up here, but I'm even more confused as to why we got here at different times."

Lyanna's ears perked up in curiosity. "What do you mean?" she asked.

Hallie sat up. The woman was a puzzle to Lyanna. She was an elf, obviously, but only in the looks of her. Lyanna knew that Hallie had once been human...somehow. Hallie was crass, clumsy, and a little blunt at times, but in all the good ways. She was a straight-shooter, someone who didn't bother to mince words or worry about emotional repercussions. Her and Regan were similar in that regard, yet her older sister seemed to lean more towards being slightly more cautious around people she didn't know or completely trust.

"Regan arrived here months before I did," Hallie explained carefully. "Then I came here. The Inquisition found her, and Stroud found me. But the weird thing is that I spent an entire year back in our world. An entire year that was only about three months for Regan." She held up a hand. "Don't ask me how or why, because I don't fucking know."

They sat in more silence for several minutes. Hallie got to her feet and stretched her arms over her head. "Look..." She sighed deeply. "I need to go back to check on Regan. I'm not comfortable leaving her for so long."

Cullen straightened up. "You're saying she would..?"

Hallie cast them both a dulled look, her eyes turning sad. "She's tried before," she mumbled, loud enough for both of them to hear. "About five years ago, now. It was just one shitty thing after another and... She talked to the VA hospital on-site therapist in the middle of the night. The authorities found her bleeding to death in her bathtub." Hallie pinched the bridge of her nose. "The doctors told us that she would have died if they'd showed up any later. So...yes, I absolutely believe her when she says she'd rather die."

The finality of Hallie's confirmation made Lyanna's skin crawl. She had never met someone so far detached that they would resort to killing themselves. Cullen got to his feet and hooked his hands behind his head, sighing and beginning to pace. Hallie gave them a curt farewell and left, leaving just the Inquisitor and her Commander. They paced on opposite sides of the room in near silence, Cullen's pace faster than hers. She knew they were both trying to think of something to do, but what could they possibly do? It was becoming clear to her that Regan had made her decision, and only she could change her own mind.

"I need to return to work," Cullen stated suddenly. He gave her a nod of his head. "Inquisitor." He left, leaving Lyanna alone.

Which is what she exactly what she didn't want to be.

\---

Hallie pinched the bridge of her nose, sighing as she shifted in her seat. Regan was sleeping, but it didn't look much better than just watching her refuse most of her food and maybe get out a single word in the span of an hour. It was excruciating to watch. Her muscle mass was almost gone. Her ribs could seen when she lifted her shirt. She refused to put on her prosthetic for any reason. She wouldn't even go to the window and get some fresh air. In simple terms, she was killing herself.

Skyhold continued on around them. The Inquisitor was now endlessly preparing for the Winter Ball at Halamshiral to stop an attempted assassination on the Empress. Lady Ambassador Josephine had briefly talked to Hallie about attending to offer support, but she had declined almost immediately.

"I can't leave my sister like this," she had explained quietly. "I don't even know if she's gonna get better. Plus, we'd probably do more harm than good. We don't particularly like nobles to begin with." Instead of helping the Inquisitor, Regan preferred to stay in her room, sulking as she inched closer and closer to killing herself. She wouldn't see anyone. Not the Inquisitor. Not any healer. Not even Cullen, most of the time.

He had practically begged Hallie to help Regan. Help her to come back to the world, back to him as well as her. She had listened sadly. He loved her, that was plain for her to see, but she couldn't do what he asked. Part of her wanted to shove food and potions down her sister's throat and force her to live. Despite the entirely fucked situation that were their lives, she felt that Regan didn't _get_ to just give in. She didn't _get_ to lay down and die. They still had a job to to. They'd promised their services to the Inquisition. Who were they if they tried to go back on such a promise?

The other part of her was more forgiving. Who was she to force her sister to keep living when she didn't want to? Regan had made that decision once before back in their world, and although it hurt Hallie to say so, she understood. She wasn't angry because it made sense to come to the decision that there wasn't anything of interest to keep Regan going. She genuinely thought that.

But she was angry now. Holland was dead. She was ashes scattered to the wind and there wasn't a fucking thing either of them could do about it. Hallie felt ripped in half. She'd never believed any of that twin bullshit like one could feel when the other was sad or hurt, but she couldn't explain the gaping hole in her chest or the sickly bubbling in her gut in any other way. She wasn't a twin any longer. With Holland gone and Regan unresponsive to the world, she was alone. Truly alone, left to pick up the pieces and try and put them back together well enough to make everything work again.

She didn't want to be alone. She wanted Regan to _want_ to stay alive. She wanted her and Cullen to be happy together and alive. She wanted to see her sister to lift mountains and defeat entire armies single-handedly. She wanted to listen to her laugh and see her smile and know that her sister was fucking _happy._ Their most recent screaming match had only confirmed what Hallie already knew and gave them a chance to swear at each other to let some steam off.

She wanted her sister back.

There was a knock at the door so soft Hallie almost didn't hear it. She got to her feet, her left knee popping, and made her way to answer it. When she cracked it open just a little, she was pleasantly surprised to see Krem standing there, wringing his hands. Casting a careful glance to make sure Regan was still sleeping, Hallie slipped outside and closed the door behind her. Before either of them could even get a word out, she wrapped her arms around him, squeezing tightly, breaking down.

"It's okay," he murmured into her hair. "I'm here, Hal." He was warm and comforting and a thousand things Hallie couldn't put into words. She tried not to cry too much on his clothes but she honestly couldn't help it. "I'm here," he said again.

She took a few minutes to calm down, eventually taking a step back to let Krem breathe, but still grasping his arms tightly. "I cried all over your shirt," she mumbled apologetically. "You probably didn't come here for that."

"I came to check on you," he said, pulling her close again and letting her head rest on his chest. "You haven't left the room in quite a while. How's Regan doing?"

"She's sleeping for now. Still the same. Hasn't eaten anything today." She shook her head. "I don't know what to do, Krem." She started crying again and held him tighter. "I can't lose both my sisters, I can't." Krem's fingers ran soothing lines through her hair. "But I can't force her to live, even with as much as I want to. I can't do that to her. I don't know what to do."

"I don't think you _can_ do anything, Hal." He pressed a kiss to her temple. "Do you want me to sit with you? You shouldn't hole yourself up like you are."

"No, I just..." She sighed and shook her head. "I'll come out later. Promise. Cullen's coming by to check in on her for a while. But I should get back. She might wake up soon."

Krem took her hands gently and kissed her knuckles. "I'll be around if you need me," he promised.

She gave him a proper kiss on his cheek and a small smile to send him on his way. She turned to go back to the room, but as soon as she opened the door, she gasped like she'd been punched in the gut.

The window was most definitely open, and Regan was most definitely gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to my favorite streamer, Brownman, on Twitch!


	20. hot tea to warm the soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While the inner circle prepares for the Winter Ball, Hope and Cullen help Regan confront her inner demons and doubts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 100k words bitches time to break out the champagne!

_November 3rd, 2010_

_Regan let out a heavy sigh and took off her work shirt in one swift move, tossing it in her laundry basket. It was only just after eleven at night, but she was mentally exhausted. Driving all night and having to look at countless car lights had fried her brain. Just as she was about to reach for her water bottle on her desk, she noticed a sticky note on her laptop. She turned on her lamp to read it._

Starting a game of Trouble at 11:30. Jess, Riley, Lauren, and some guy named Ray. BTW, we're high!

_Below that was a rough drawing of a cat with a blunt and a jar labeled "cookies" next to it. Regan chuckled, recognizing Mo's style anywhere. She took off her bra, slipped into a threadbare sleeping shirt, and then pulled on her University of Whitewater vest. She peeled off her pants and stepped into a pair of shorts, then her Crocs, and headed back out and down the hall of her dorm building. At the very end on the right hand side, she could hear a fair amount of commotion from inside. Without even bothering to knock, she turned the knob and went in, greeted by a round of cheers and laughs._

_"Good lord, keep it down," she laughed. "Remember that it's technically quiet hours!"_

_"Sorry!" Riley giggled in the corner. She pointed to a tall guy sitting in a bean bag chair next to her. "This is Ray. He lives in Tutt."_

_"Are you the gay person Mo was telling us about?" he asked._

_All the girls burst out laughing. "Fuckin' hell!" Lauren cried out, her hand pressed to her chest. "No, that's Hallie, her sister!"_

_"Technically she swings both ways," Regan pointed out._

_"So, I've got a chance?" Ray teased, taking a sip from a coffee tumbler, though Regan doubted it actually held coffee._

_"She's a minor."_

_"Fuck, nevermind!"_

_Regan lowered her voice a little before she spoke again. "So, what, did you hotbox a car earlier, or just use the fan to blow it out the window?"_

_"We used my car. You want some?"_

_"I'm good, I'll just stick to the bottle of Redd's I stashed in Jess' fridge." Regan rooted around in Jess' little fridge until she pulled out she found the single, robustly red can of apple ale. She only kept a single can in Jess' fridge at a time. It wasn't worth it to keep more there, seeing as she could always just wander down the hall to her room and grab more if she wanted to. She was the only person overage on their whole floor, so her dorm was considered a "wet room", and she couldn't be penalized for having alcohol in the dorms. "So, we're playing Trouble?"_

_"Yup," Mo confirmed. Mo had been Regan's English 101 classmate in their freshmen year, and they bonded over the shared opinion over their professor. The professor had been a massive advocate in the environmental industry, especially in areas that exposed flawed techniques of oil drilling and fracking, and decided to make that the topic of the semester. They learned more about environmental problems than they did about any single piece of literature. As two people who loved the arts, especially literature, it pissed them off to no end. Mo had wanted to be roommates for their sophomore year, but Regan has stuck with her single room deal because the army would still pay the extra cost. Instead, Mo roomed with Lauren just down the hall from Regan's room._

_"Ray and I are are teaming up because he's a bit too fucked to know the difference between blue and green right now," Riley giggled._

_"Fuck you," he muttered into the mouth of his tumbler._

_"I'm out because I'm working on my Book of Shadows," Lauren said. Her black leather book was nestled in her lap. Regan sometimes wondered what kind of practices she filled the book with, but she also knew that Lauren kept most of her Wiccan beliefs to herself._

_"Dibs on blue," Regan said, taking a seat on the floor and leaning back against Jessica's desk while she brought out the playing board. She wanted to take off her prosthetic, but was wary about bringing an uncomfortable air to the room._

_They lined up their little markers at the starting positions. Riley started off the game with by practically smashing the button that rolled the die, and off they went. Music played in the background from Jessica's iPod. Being musically ignorant, Regan didn't recognize the songs, but they sounded alright. In between turns, Mo made a dash back to her room to grab a bag of Ruffles, then, after Regan paid her three dollars she had gotten from work, also grabbed an unopened box of Cheez-Its from Regan's unlocked room._

_Regan had first become friends with Jessica through their communications class. They were paired up for a argumentative speech, and got so into it that it ended with Regan hopping on her good leg, her prosthetic threateningly raised overhead, and Jessica holding up a cardboard Captain America shield they had made out of Pop-Tart and cereal boxes. Then Jessica had introduced her to her friend and roommate, Riley, and Lauren was an added bonus. Mo was already friends with Regan, so they all formed this tiny gang of college girls on the floor of their dorm hall. Regan was normally a classic shut-in, but she liked to wander over to Jess and Riley's room every so often. They had string lights hung up across the ceiling and under their lofted beds. Jessica even had a hammock under her bed._

_It felt good for Regan, knowing she had friends again._

_"How can you drive for work without a right leg to push the pedals?" Ray asked after a while._

_"Ray!" Riley snapped._

_Regan snorted. "It's okay, Riley, it's a valid question. My dad is really good friends with a guy who does custom autos work, and he rigged a setup where the gas pedal is on the left instead of the right, so I use my left leg. The brake is in the middle, so that was easy to just keep normal. It was a pain in the ass at first, and we even had to go to court so I could keep my license and legally drive like that, but it works out."_

_"He thought you just used your prosthetic," Jessica explained._

_"No, I don't have a flexible ankle anymore, so I couldn't push the pedals properly."_

_"That's what I said!"_

_There was a knock at the door. Immediately, Ray clicked his tumbler shut and got up to set it on the windowsill. Jessica got up and went to the door, cracking it open. Regan's heart lurched when she spotted a holstered gun on a black belt, connected to a similarly black uniform._

_"Hi, I'm Officer Madden, this is Deputy Kipp. Do you guys have a few minutes to talk?"_

_"Oh, of course!" Jessica squeaked out, opening the door all the way. The circle of five all schooled their features at the same time. Regan kept her Redd's in her hand, unworried. She was of age. Everyone else wasn't, but she couldn't help but feel the selfish pang of relief knowing she wouldn't be arrested for underage drinking. They all calmly got to their feet and milled out into the hallway._

_"I'll need to see all of your IDs, please," Officer Madden asked. His eyes caught on the can in Regan's hand. "Miss, are you overage?"_

_"Turned twenty-one last month," Regan answered smoothly, digging her campus wallet from her back pocket and handing it over to the officer. "I'm the only overage student on the floor." The officer nodded and continued to take everyone's IDs. Regan turned to Mo and grinned. "Look at you," she joked. "Pandering to the stereotype that brown people cause trouble."_

_"I really am!" Mo laughed. Mo was Indian, specifically Punjabi. Both her mother and father had been born in India, but she was a first generation immigrant. She was fluently bilingual, but she often talked to her parents over the phone strictly in Punjabi. She loved to point out when she was accidentally--or purposefully--portraying the stereotype of her culture, especially the color of her skin. "I knew I shouldn't've gone to the whitest college in Wisconsin!"_

_"You have the whitest friends, too," Riley pointed out. "'Cept Ray over here."_

_"Representing Venezuela since 1992!" he laughed. He too was a first-gen immigrant, but unlike Mo, he had actually lived in Venezuela until he was three years old._

_"Who are the residents of the room?" Officer Madden asked. Jessica and Riley raised their hands. "The reason we're here is because we received an anonymous call that there was a smell of marijuana in this dorm, and specifically on this floor. Has anyone been smoking tonight?" Everyone shook their heads. "Can I take a quick look around the room?"_

_"Of course," Riley easily quipped, turning on the ceiling light. The officer followed her into the room while everyone else continued to talk idly. Regan yawned widely and worked out a the stiffness in her right thigh as they waited. She caught Officer Kipp glancing at her prosthetic more than once, and she couldn't help but smirk. She hated the staring from people she knew, but she didn't mind it from strangers. She couldn't fault them for looking. It wasn't every day someone came across an irregularity such as a blown-off leg. She found it amusing, actually, because she could see their visible confusion and slight discomfort, and yet she was completely comfortable with it._

_Jessica, Riley, and Officer Madden reappeared a minute or two later. He handed back everyone's IDs and hooked his thumbs in his Kevlar vest. "Well, I don't see anything wrong here. Miss Galloway here is of age and there's no evidence of drugs or other alcohol in the room." He smirked. "Smells nice in there, actually, like warm cider."_

_"Cider and nutmeg," Riley said, grinning. "That's the scent from the oil diffuser."_

_"Perfect for the season. Anyways, we're sorry to have troubled you."_

_"Trouble!" Ray laughed. "Get it?" He looked around at everyone. "Because we were playing Trouble?"_

_"Ray?" Jessica said carefully. "That was so bad, I'm literally considering letting these nice officers take you and send you back to Venezuela."_

\---

Cullen couldn't sleep, but that was hardly a new feeling to him.

Countless nights he'd lain awake in his bed, hoping and praying beyond everything that she'd be okay. That she'd find what she needed to want to keep going. To stay alive. Not being able to even talk to her had slowly eaten away at him. He wanted to see her happy and healthy, as all people deserved to be. He couldn't understand why she'd chosen to simply stop, but he respected her choice, nonetheless. Hallie had convinced him to do so. She'd explained that it wasn't the first time Regan had simply refused to live. The thought had terrified him. How many times had he gotten within inches of that same decision, yet always turned around and worked to make it better?

He lit a fire in the fireplace to combat the cold that was no doubt coming in from the hole in his roof. He realized he wouldn't get much work done, not when he was too busy worrying about her. He took his armor off piece by piece and set it on its stand, stretching when he was done. His back was stiff and there was a annoying kink in his neck. He tried to put the pains out of his mind as he climbed his ladder up to his loft.

Regan Galloway would forever be a mystery to him. She sang, played instruments, was multilingual, wrote, and even drew a little. She was confident, yet modest. Sociable, yet an introvert. She was an almost expert dual-wielded, and now she was also freshly manifested mage. That last one was a mystery for everyone. Nothing on the outside could tell them why her magic had suddenly manifested. The answer came from her past. Her world. Her home. Magic didn't exist there, at least, not in the way Cullen was familiar with.

It made sense, and yet sounded insane.

He couldn't even begin to imagine how it all felt to her.

There was a knock at his door, and he couldn't help the annoyed groan that rumbled in his chest. He slipped back into his boots and climbed down the ladder. He unlatched and swung open the door, ready to accept a report or a message from one of the other advisors.

"Hiya, Cullen," Regan sighed, slumping against the doorframe with a tired smile on her lips.

"Maker's breath!" he exclaimed, quickly reaching out to support her so she didn't fall. "What are you doing out of bed?"

Regan all but melted in his arms, pressing the side of her face against his chest. "Too quiet," she mumbled. "And you weren't there."

The latter statement surprised him slightly. "I thought you didn't..."

Her hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt. "I was stupid...so stupid..." She shook her head and her features screwed up. "Every single time I do this, I think I have to deal with it by myself. I tell myself that getting help is just me being weak, is just a sign that I've failed, that I'm not strong, I'm not-" She was cut off abruptly by her own choked sob that escaped her. "I'm sorry, Cullen, I'm so sorry!"

He held her close, but not so tight that it would bring her pain. "Hush now," he breathed into her hair. "It's alright. I promise, it's alright."

"But I'm such a moron," she chuckled bitterly. "I'm just a stubborn soldier who pushes everyone away."

"Regan," he said firmly. "It's alright. Please don't punish yourself." He rested his cheek on her head, sighing heavily. He didn't know how to help her. He didn't know what she wanted to hear, or even what she _needed_ to hear. All he knew that she was hurting, both physically and mentally, and he knew how lethal such a pairing could be. He had seen it cripple templars and send them to their graves. He couldn't bear to watch the same happen to the woman he loved more than anything in the world. He gently moved her inside, closing the door behind them. She continued to cry against him like she would never stop.

"Please let me stay," she suddenly blurted out. "I can't go back to my room. Wash won't leave."

"Wash?"

"Fuck," she breathed. She straightened up and wiped her cheeks on her sleeves. "Washington. Evan Washington. He was one of my best friends in the army. We deployed together. He was there the day I lost my leg. He was standing right in front of me when Amira-" Her mouth clicked shut and she squeezed her eyes closed, fast tears falling down her flushed cheeks.

"It's okay," Cullen repeated in a soft voice. "You don't have to tell me."

"But I _need_ to tell _someone!"_ she hissed. "Everyone who knew is dead or gone. Not even Hallie knows."

"Later," he insisted. He felt like his heart was going to break from seeing her so defeated. "You need time to heal, time to sleep in and not worry about the coming days."

"Go away!" she muttered suddenly, her head jerking to the side and her features turning hostile. "Please, not now. Don't make me remember her now..." She opened her eyes and looked up at him. Her watery eyes made the blue of her irises shine even brighter than they usually did. "I don't know what to do..." she whispered, terrified.

Cullen swallowed thickly and brought his hands up to thumb away her tears. "Sleep," he proposed. "First sleep, then we can talk. I promise, Re."

She brought her own hands up and grasped his, keeping them cradling her face. "Swear it. Swear it on..." Cullen flinched in surprise when a tiny giggle passed her lips. "Swear it on the old gods and the new."

He frowned like he had misheard her. "Pardon?"

The giggle doubled at his remark. "Swear it on the old gods and the new," she repeated, smiling a little.

Cullen couldn't help but mirror her expression. "I swear it on the old gods and the new," he stated firmly. "Am I correct in assuming that was something from your world?"

"In a sense."

He pulled her close and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Can you handle getting up the ladder?"

She hiccuped and nodded. "Should be easy enough. I ripped up my sheets and used them to climb out my window, so a ladder should be a piece of cake." She giggled again when he pinched the bridge of his nose at the thought of her rappelling from her window her her state of health. She reluctantly left his embrace and, as she said, climbed up with no issue. He followed. "Never fix your roof, okay?" she said. "I like the cool air too much."

"I promise." He kissed her before helping her undress. She winced when her shirt was pulled over her head, but was otherwise fine. Her midsection was still bandaged, but not nearly as heavily as it had been. Her other cuts had been reduced to pink lines of varying sizes, bruises near healed, but she was still recovering from her fight with the Nightmare demon. "We match, you know," he noted when her breastband dropped to the floor and she shrugged into one of his shirts. She raised an eyebrow at him. He reached up and traced the scar on his upper lip, but trailed it down over his bottom lip as well. "Well, almost."

Her fingers brushed against her own scar. "It still feels a bit weird," she admitted. "How did you get yours?"

Cullen shrugged. "I don't really remember. It happened when Kirkwall's circle fell. That madness lasted throughout most of the night. I was nearly dead with exhaustion when Hawke defeated Knight-Commander Meredith and ended it all. But I'm fairly certain it came from one of those bronze statues she brought to life. I took a pretty hard hit from it. Fractured one of my vertebrae, even."

"Christ, Cullen," she breathed. "Even with your armor on?"

"I would have been dead without it."

She sat down on the edge of his bed. "Then I guess I can thank the templars for having such gaudy, yet effective armor." Her hands moved to her prosthetic, but Cullen kneeled in font of her. "Again, where's your Fereldan gruffness?"

"I left it in the sparring ring," he joked. He was rewarded with a soft laugh and a following warm smile. He made quick work of the buckles of her prosthetic and set it aside once it was free. He rubbed his fingers over the red lines the straps had left behind, trying not to think about how much weight Regan had lost, and how visible it was in places like her thighs and shoulders where she held most of her muscle. Above him, she yawned widely, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. "Ready to go to sleep?"

"No," she replied immediately. "You're not in the bed."

He nearly blanched. "You're still hurt," he protested.

She waved a hand passively before offering it to him. Her fingers curled around his and she squeezed firmly. "I've had to sleep alone for weeks on end. Hallie won't even let Cherry up in my bed." She gave him a look. "Pillows aren't doing it for me anymore. I'd rather have the Fereldan gruffness, so you better go get it, otherwise I'm not sleeping." She paused. "Or I'll just find something to tie you up with." She laughed when a blush poofed onto his cheeks. "I saw that, Commander. Now...please? For me?"

For a moment, he almost refused. He wanted to go on a complicated explanation about how she needed sleep without his nightmares getting in the way. He didn't want to hurt her or deny her comfort. Then he remembered the obvious. Regan had nightmares, too. She had woken him up every so often in the past, muttering in her sleep or jerking awake. He had welcomed the chance to be there with her, to comfort her and help her relax again as she had done for him many times. How could he sleep with a clear conscience when he knew she had so many more things to be afraid of, to wake her up in the middle of the night, and he wouldn't be there? How could he leave her to battle her demons alone?

Well, he couldn't.

"You win," he said, kissing her. "Give me a moment." He extinguished the remaining candles before moving to slip beneath the covers beside she. She rolled over on her opposite side so they were facing each other, pain evident on her face, but her features relaxed when she scooted closer to him.

"Before I fall asleep..." she mumbled, tucking her head under his chin, "I'm sorry. Again. But for a different reason."

"Such as?"

She made a odd sound. "About everything. About lying to you. About wanting to die for...well, longer than I should care to admit." She took a slow breath. "And for not...telling you. About me. And Hallie, I suppose. Who we are and where we came from. I guess I was just worried that..." She let out a strained breath, like she was trying to stop herself from crying again. "I really liked you. A lot. And then I went and fell in love with you..."

"I don't regret a single thing," she declared suddenly, looking up to face him properly. Fresh tear tracks ran down both of her scarlet cheeks. She wiped at them blindly, taking a shaky breath before continuing on. "I don't regret keeping that secret. It shouldn't matter. We can't go home, anyway, so it should have just stayed in the past." She was playing with his hand, simply threading their fingers together, only to pull them apart and do it again. She was baring some of her most guarded, Cullen knew, and he was more than willing to sit quietly until she got it all out.

"I certainly don't regret falling in love with you," she continued quietly, smiling down at their hands. "I never thought I could be so happy than how I am when I'm with you." She scrunched up her face for a second. "Did that sound right?" she muttered, almost to herself. She looked up at him and smiled again. "I love you, Cullen."  
  
He couldn't help the lopsided grin that answered her statement. He curled his arm around her and pressed a kiss to her again. "I love you, too, Regan," he murmured. He couldn't help but feel a swell of love and affection for the woman in his arms, no matter what she was nor where she came from. He loved her, and she loved him, and that was all that was important. "You should get some sleep."  
  
As if on cue, Regan let out a massive yawn, murmuring another apology. "Yeah," she sighed. She tucked herself beneath his chin again, sighing contentedly. "Probably a good idea." Within the minute, Regan was asleep, dead to the world like Cullen had never seen. She was a light sleeper. Sometimes lighter than him. The few and far nights they had spent together had always ended up with one of them waking up in the middle of the night.  
  
Now, however, there was an entirely different Regan in his arms. He prayed to the Maker that He would let her sleep soundly for once.

She deserved it.

\---

Regan closed her eyes as a massive shiver ran through her whole body. She gripped her mug of tea tighter and shifted on her loveseat couch. Cherry took up the other side, sleeping warmly beneath her own blanket. Regan pulled hers tighter around her and adjusted the pillow supporting her back. The TV was quietly playing a Netflix documentary in the background about the deep reaches of space. Although she liked outer space in general, she wasn't really paying attention to the documentary. Instead, she was scrolling through pictures on her phone.

Pictures of Holland's wedding to David.

It had been Regan's favorite wedding to go to, and she had been to a fair amount. She had been the only bridesmaid not to wear a dress. She had instead worn black pants and a true blue suit like all of David's groomsmen had been dressed up in. It wasn't as if she was shamed of her prosthetic, but she hadn't wanted people to stare and take away their attention from Holland's big day.

One of her favorite pictures to have come from the reception was of herself with a wireless microphone in hand. She was standing at her spot at the long table of bridesmaids, groomsmen, and the couple of the hour. In the background, Holland had one of the biggest smiles on her lips, hand covering her eyes, peeking between her fingers as she looked up at her older sister. Hallie was on the other side of Regan, caught in a bout of gut-busting laughter. Regan had been in the middle of spouting out a story about the time that the three sisters had gone to a nearby quarry to go swimming and cliff diving. Holland had insisted on trying a classically majestic swan dive.

The result had been a hilariously painful sounding belly flop.

Regan giggled at the memory. She could remember Hallie's horrified expression perfectly, could feel the aching pain in her own gut from laughing too hard and the burn of her lungs from the lack of breathing. It had been one of those days that had been almost too perfect.

"What a happy memory," Hope said from the opposite loveseat.

To Regan, Hope looked exactly like her. Well, mostly. Instead of her own deep blue irises, Hope's eyes glowed a bright blue, whites and all. She was dressed in Regan's midnight jacket, whereas Regan was tucked into sweatpants and a sweatshirt. It was almost as if they were the same Regan from different points in time. Two different Regans from two different worlds.

Reality was quite different.

"Can you see all of my memories?" Regan asked, curious.

Hope made a thoughtful face. "Most," she answered simply. "You're keeping a lot from me."

"I didn't exactly invite you to share my mind _indefinitely._ How was I supposed to know our minds were going to be fused together? Haven't you figured out by now that I'm not from this world?"

"Yes, I realized that quite quickly. But it was either fuse or let you die. Could you say confidently which you would prefer? You've already found reason enough to endure. It would be a waste to revert back."

Regan huffed, but had nothing more to say about it. Instead, she asked, "So where are we? Please don't say I'm unconscious again."

"No, nothing like that," the spirit insisted. "You're just sleeping. Safe and sound in Cullen's tower. Mages dream differently in the Fade. They remember more clearly. It's just like being awake. Or so I've been told."

"Told?"

"I've met many mages in the Fade. You're hardly the first."

Regan squinted at the spirit. "Just the first you've decided to bond with?"

Hope mirrored her face right back at her. "You've never asked why I decided to bond with you. Why I decided to help you."

"Should I?"

Hope rolled her eyes. "I thought you'd be a little more curious, is all."

"What does it matter if I can't change anything."

The spirit crossed her leg over her knee, folding her arms over her chest. "We've come full circle, Regan, so I'll ask again. Would you rather be dead in the Fade, or bonded with me?"

Cherry's tail thumped against the couch once, distracting them both. Regan automatically reached out and rubbed her tummy beneath the blanket. "I'm not sure," Regan answered. "They both have their pros and cons." She shook her head. "So, how is this going to work? You just jump in and out whenever you please, hijacking my body?"

"That is what an unhealthy relationship between us would be like," Hope explained. "The more we fight, the more unstable our connection could become. It could tear us apart, and neither of us could survive such a violent separation."

"So...we're stuck together?"

Hope smiled warmly. "If there is anything I have learned of your world through wandering mages and your memories, it is that there are many secrets that have yet to be uncovered. Who knows? Perhaps there _is_ a way to separate us. A way that has simply not been discovered yet." She paused for a moment. "Have you noticed something out of the ordinary?" she asked.

Regan frowned. "You mean besides the fact that I'm now a mage and I'm bonded to a spirit of Hope."

Hope could have rolled her eyes, but without pupils or irises, it was hard to tell. "I mean about what's around you."

She had another quip on the tip of her tongue, but Regan simply sighed took a look around. Her living room looked the same as when she had left it. Even down to her windbreaker jacket she had left on the floor after it had slipped from its hanger on the coat rack. She had had a pocket of change and a few dollars from when she had stopped at the gas station for Redd's and a bottle of water. All of the pictures that lined her entertainment set were the same as well. Her and Hallie standing at the top of Pike's Peak. The three Galloway sisters at Holland's wedding. A snapshot of Regan lifting Holland off the ground when she returned from basic training. A portrait of Cherry next to a carved pumpkin with a sunflower in her mouth around Halloween.

A picture of Regan and Hallie sitting on the edge of a cliff, dressed in their Theodosian clothes.

"That shouldn't exist," Regan said carefully.

"It doesn't," Hope confirmed. "Officially, at least. Remember what I said before? You're dreaming. Mages dream more clearly. Mages can manipulate the Fade around them as they dream. You can be anywhere you want."

A wicked smile plucked at Regan's lips. She closed her eyes. "So if I wanted to..." She opened them, and her living room was gone. In its place was the glittering beach of Panama City in Florida. Crystal blue waves tumbled over each other and on the sand. There wasn't a cloud in the sky. Regan's clothes had into a simple blue and white striped bikini, but Hope's stayed the same. People milled around them like it was an ordinary day. A game of volleyball was being played just down the way. "Spend some time at the beach?"

"As long as you can picture it, believe it's here." Hope shrugged and offered a smile. "It will be here. Not so bad, is it?"

Regan closed her eyes again and pictured herself at her grandma's house, standing among the marigolds. The fresh soil beneath her bare feet felt like heaven. She was wearing an old shirt from one of her high school's musicals, one she had actually turned into a crop top. She had been on the stage crew for most of her school's productions. In a flash, the scene changed immediately, and she found herself backstage in Grafton High School's auditorium. Left stage, sitting in a chair with a copy of the script resting on a music stand.

"Careful not to let your mind wander too much!" Hope laughed. "Might be hard for you. Your mind is incredible, Regan. I've never met anyone quite like you."

"Did you forget the whole thing about me being from another world?" Regan snarked.

"No, I mean something other than that." The spirit placed a hand on Regan's shoulder and squeezed fondly. "I've met mages who think they're the cleverest sons of bitches in the worlds. I've met mages who yearn for release and freedom. I've met mages who are so innocently ignorant, it's almost too sweet to talk to them. But they all had one thing in common. They had no idea how worked." She cocked her head. "You're a sad character, Regan. You figured out how the world worked in one of the worst ways possible, and I pity you because of that. But I didn't bond with you out of pity. I bonded with you because I believe your world _and_ mine can be bettered with someone like you in it." She paused. "The world doesn't deserve people like you, Regan, but it's all the better for having you play a part."

Regan swallowed, her heart thumping painfully. She opened her mouth, but no words were said. She scoffed instead, smiling. "You took a soldier and gave her hope," she finally croaked out.

"Your biggest fear," the spirit stated, nodding. "Think you can make peace with it?"

Regan almost shook her head. "What if I can't? I've done some pretty horrible things. I don't know if I'm allowed to hope."

"You can scream, shout, cry, and beat your fists at the world. You can lie down and refused to get up. So many mortals are oblivious to the freedoms they have. They think only of the consequences. The mage plotting escape thinks first of the ways they will be caught. The soldier thinks first of how they will die. The elf thinks first of how they will be discriminated. You have the absolute and uninhibited freedom to hope, Regan, as well as the justification to do so. Perhaps you have done horrible things, but it is because of what you have done that leaves room for hope. Hope for things to be better, hope for the freedoms life is willing to give if you keep trying. Yes, it might be easier to stop, to die, but do you remember that little shred of advice Mitchell gave to you years ago?"

Regan folded her arms over her chest. "Sometimes you just have to take the high road," she murmured, smiling. "Damn him for being right."

\---

Cullen was woken up by a muffled groan beside him. He dragged his hands down his face and took a deep breath, trying to shake the sleep from his limbs. Regan was sitting up beside him, holding her right knee. He also sat up, his arms immediately wrapping around her shoulders. "Nightmare?"

She shook her head wordlessly, baring her clenched teeth. "Phantom pain," she seethed. "Dammit!" Even in the low light coming through his roof, he could see her knuckles were white from gripping her knee so hard. "I can't remember the last time this happened," she admitted with a breathless laugh.

"What can I do?" he asked, fully awake now.

"Nothing. Just wait for it to be over."

Cullen nodded and rested his cheek on her shoulder, wrapping his one arm around her opposite side. She winced and grunted, but never yelled, never uttered a curse after the first one. She would suck in breaths through her teeth most of the time, and her exhales were short and forced. Her muscles tensed and flexed constantly. All Cullen could offer was a firm press of his hand across her shoulders to help relieve some of the tension she held there. Her features pinched together and she turned toward him, pressing her forehead to his collarbone with a low sound of pain. He held her close and offered a silent prayer to ease her pain.

"M'sorry," she said suddenly. "This hasn't happened for years. I'm sorry I woke you up."

"You're apologizing for experiencing phantom pain in a limb you lost during your military service?" Cullen teased. "Is there anything you _won't_ apologize for?"

"My attitude," she replied immediately, making them both snicker. "I've earned that." she paused briefly. "My overwhelming love of dogs. My obsession of buying books but taking forever to actually sit down and read them. My fear and hatred of the ocean." She looked up at him and smirked. Her face was red, but there were no tear tracks on her cheeks. "Would you like me to continue?"

"I'll take your word on your entitlement, my lady." He pecked a kiss on the very tip of her nose, making her scrunch up her face, but smile nonetheless.

"I love you," she blurted out randomly. "So fucking much."  
  
"I love you, too, Regan," he returned, his voice as firm as tempered steel. "Maker knows how much I love you."  
  
His proclamation made her let out a puff of an exhale, her lips curling into a smile. "I'm so afraid, Cullen."  
  
"Of what?"

"Would you like the list in alphabetical or chronological order?" She didn't wait for a response. "I'm a mage, Cullen," she spit out, "and I'm terrified. I'm terrified I'll wake up one day and find that I'm totally different. That I'll just be lost. I won't be myself." Her hand drifted up to gesture to her chest, right over her heart. "I can feel this torrent right below the surface just begging to be let loose." She sighed and kept going like a broken dam. "I was a soldier. I know what it's like to be hijacked by adrenaline and feel like I could lift a goddamn tank, but this is just a ludicrous kind of power."

She pulled away to sit up straight. She frowned like she was about to start crying, but she still didn't. Cullen briefly wondered if it would be easier for her if she allowed herself to, but, knowing Regan, she was probably tired of feeling broken. "You were a templar, Cullen. I may not be from this world, but I know plenty about the order. How can you-" She swallowed and took a shaky breath. "How can you not hate what I am?" she finally got out. "I need to know, I need to just hear it and put it behind me."

Without thinking much about it, Cullen pulled her back and nearly smothered her against his chest. His arms locked around her tightly, his face buried in her neck as his fingers splayed out across her skin. Some part of him trembled. "That will never happen," he declared, his voice wavering with emotion. "Listen to me, Regan. You are the single strongest person I've ever met. That includes the Inquisitor. That includes Hawke. That includes the Hero of Ferelden. I'm sure they have their own accomplishments, but in my mind, yours trump theirs."

"I'm not _that_ strong," Regan protested. "Be a little reasonable. The Warden-Commander saved the whole damn world. The Inquisitor is striving and _will succeed_ into doing the same. Hawke fought Corypheus, bested the former Arishok in single combat, and saved the mages of Kirkwall against Meredith. What have I done?" Immediately her mouth opened as if to protest, but, on instinct, Cullen clamped his own hand over her mouth.

"Would you like the list in alphabetical or chronological order?" he quoted her, grinning as her giggles were muffled by his hand. "Chronological it is. You gave a part of yourself for your country, and you're still going." He felt her tongue press against his palm, and although he made a face at her, he continued on, ignoring her efforts to escape. "You've adapted impossibly well to an entirely new world." He gave her a pointed look. "Dual wielding is a difficult skill to pick up, and you look like the wind when you do it. _And_ you do it with a prosthetic leg on your dominant side."

"You not only survived the siege at Adamant, but you also fell off the practical edge of the world, into the Fade, and made it out alive," he continued on, his voice softer. "You survived a spirit bonding itself to you. You immediately used your newborn abilities as well as your sword skills to defeat the Nightmare demon. And now you not only found the will to live, but you've chosen a man to help guide you through the hardships, despite his--ow!" He jerked his hand away, glancing at the bite marks on the ball of his palm.

"If I'm not allowed to doubt myself," Regan declared, "then you aren't either." She pulled him down to kiss him. "So shut it. You are Commander Cullen Rutherford, formerly Knight-Captain of Kirkwall. You turned against Meredith because you saw how far she had fallen. You stopped taking lyrium cold turkey. Not even people in my world can stop smoking that abruptly. You were the commanding officer when we stormed Adamant. Those were _your_ trebuchets!" She sighed and tucked herself against him. "Why don't we just call it even for tonight? We'll have plenty of time to revisit this argument."

They shared a moment of quiet laughter. "Done deal, Miss Galloway," he promised. "Come on, we should get back to sleep. I'll never hear the end of it from the Inquisitor if I look tired tomorrow."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so y'all are aware, the police coming to the dorm room memory was an actual thing that happened to me once, so I thought I'd bring it to life here in my story ;)  
> \---  
> Redd's Apple Ale wasn't established until 2012, but it's the only beer-like drink I like, so of course I have to include it <3


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